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Description
An object at rest
Don't leave me to rest
I'll always be going
I want to be moving
But I'll pause just once
For you

My eyes are trained
Magnet-esque and curious
To travel to him
And he smiles at me
Just flattered and quiet
Like he should be

His hands splay on his book
All separated fingers
Like ribs, or dreams,
Or dead, dry bones
Pale, thin, wise and lonesome

Click
"There's a difference
And we have to grasp that"
I zone in and out
"Let a frog go"
I know what that
Clock means, all
Letters and elements
Click, scribble
Click

I've told them something
I've kept inside so long
It's surely spoilt
And the emotions stale
They didn't tell me I was mad
And though I left out
Every gory detail
They still smiled

I think psychology
Would amuse me, flatter me
Draw me in and consume me, full
And the people I'd help would be
Beautiful

"I was born," he says
And I wish that that's all anyone
Ever needed to know
And by saying that I could
Assure the world that we are,
Will be, and always have been human
And but only that
Until we die

I've no pictures of
Cousins, loves,
Grandparents, or uncles
To remind me of those we
Never seem to talk about
And have never met before
And I realize it seems to be
A little bit lonely

Today I realized that we
Both cross and swing our ankles
And I wonder who stole who's
Mannerism in the first place
Because it seems to be
More notable each week
That we share these tiny
Little quirks

I got the book
That mine was reading
On the way home
Just so I could feel
What they did
When they couldn't put
It down
And I feel uneasy

I was late from school
Because I stayed
Too long in my ditch
And I caught my friends
Walking home
They'd stared at me
And I wish I had stayed
Just a bit longer

Description
An object at rest
Don't leave me to rest
I'll always be going
I want to be moving
But I'll pause just once
For you

My eyes are trained
Magnet-esque and curious
To travel to him
And he smiles at me
Just flattered and quiet
Like he should be

His hands splay on his book
All separated fingers
Like ribs, or dreams,
Or dead, dry bones
Pale, thin, wise and lonesome

Click
"There's a difference
And we have to grasp that"
I zone in and out
"Let a frog go"
I know what that
Clock means, all
Letters and elements
Click, scribble
Click

I've told them something
I've kept inside so long
It's surely spoilt
And the emotions stale
They didn't tell me I was mad
And though I left out
Every gory detail
They still smiled

I think psychology
Would amuse me, flatter me
Draw me in and consume me, full
And the people I'd help would be
Beautiful

"I was born," he says
And I wish that that's all anyone
Ever needed to know
And by saying that I could
Assure the world that we are,
Will be, and always have been human
And but only that
Until we die

I've no pictures of
Cousins, loves,
Grandparents, or uncles
To remind me of those we
Never seem to talk about
And have never met before
And I realize it seems to be
A little bit lonely

Today I realized that we
Both cross and swing our ankles
And I wonder who stole who's
Mannerism in the first place
Because it seems to be
More notable each week
That we share these tiny
Little quirks

I got the book
That mine was reading
On the way home
Just so I could feel
What they did
When they couldn't put
It down
And I feel uneasy

I was late from school
Because I stayed
Too long in my ditch
And I caught my friends
Walking home
They'd stared at me
And I wish I had stayed
Just a bit longer