I think its buried in the fault,
Of the things we have,
Those that become familiar,
Because we grow tired and accustomed,
So we seek the next high,
The smoke fading off your lips,
Let me kiss that mouth,
Inhale every last vapor,
In the hopes it will keep me longer,
Higher and higher,
How will I know when the altitude is suffocating me?
And not the way your kiss makes me feel,
Do you think we’ll grow tired of each other,
That our highs will fall into gravity and crash,
Down into the grave we dug while singing songs that made us feel alive,
Still tipsy off the last kiss,
Or was it the venom hissing in our veins,
The same poison we inhaled with the smoke,
Higher and higher,
These clouds seem so familiar,
How long have we been faded into the sky?
How long will it take for us to come down this time?

2 thoughts on “highes

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