carried on the dream I tasted in your voice
I was never afraid of heights

when I was falling
                                 falling
                                            falling
all I felt was cool air brushing my hair
as it rushed across my skin

it still tasted like you
or the idea of you
or who I wished you were
or who you pretended to be

it tasted like truth
but the truth is...
I trusted without enough doubt to realize
that touching the sky
meant I couldn't see the ground
that fairytales were meant for those with wings
because flying is a prerequisite
and I was just auditing the experience

soaring through promises I needed to believe
I knew who you were....
                       until you weren't

I believed who I was
but I never believed myself to be stupid
or naive
or...stupid

real is how we perceive it
but any way I slice you up
the pavement still wears my skin

multi-tonal adhesives cannot
heal the trust I broke by believing you

who am I now?
fear of heights and a traumatic aversion
to self-trust

plus a dash self-loathing

when I close my eyes
I still ride dreams that taste like truth
but the truth is...

flying is a prerequisite
and I was just auditing the experience