So I could put my head on your shoulder and tell you how much I want a drink

So I could tell you things

So I could pretend I didn't know the things you didn't tell me

I worry about you. The world seems devastatingly meaningless when juxtaposed against my worry for you.

I think this is a sign of greed or childishness.

I don't know what to do because I don't what I can do for you

And I do not feel I can go on without first giving you some small token of happiness

A sign of sentimentality and childishness, but I am afraid when I am not by your side

Your sounds, though they scare me

If I have a soul, it is sick

A heart that has begun sleeping more

In these moments, I feel the world is malicious for continuing on in spite of

Childish

Several impulses and inclinations die as miserably as weeds

Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend I am your dream

Enough to make you happy

[I don't need to be happy.]