I Bought My Thoughts From the Secret Shop

These are our churches.
Where we lay our heads when we feel worthless.
Our crutches at the edge of nervous,
Making sense of life's purpose.

In our own way,
We destroy and create,
Every moving part a piece,
Of a more vast deeper thing.

I could lose sleep,
I could lose time,
Irrelevant to what is actually mine.

Never hire a pyromaniac
To build your bridges.
If you fail to keep them intact,
Never look back as to not repeat the past.

I could lose sleep,
I could lose time,
None of it was ever actually mine.

Drinking alone,
Looking for someone new,
Getting used to the cold,
Unsure of what is and what isn't.

These are our churches,
Our own burning bridges.
These are our homes,
These are our homes.

I could lose sleep,
I could lose time,
Happily, on this path of mine.