am i real and what do i feel
hate is half a heart
only i am in my arms
you were sold as something to hold
nothing’s as rude as the cold
stupidly beautifoolish true you
maybe madness is a heart
maybe heaven is a habit
if i could fly i’d live in the sky
i’d come from why and obviously you do too
the very start of everything hard could be the slip of a fingertip