Swallowing keeps me speechless when my mouth isn't full
Hands cover my mouth as I argue with the atomic clock,
Waiting for it to divide my time peacefully,
But instead I am popping red opal fruits like pills.
I think I'm going for the sugar high,
But my wings are scrapping the icy sidewalk.
Since when were we expected to walk so imbalanced?
Since when was I suspect to have such kind of talents?
I'm just starry-eyed boy working off of dim moonlight
Who was told he could shine, but just never too bright.
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