So here I am in this sick situation.   I've got a sad desperation that you have yet to fully encounter.   I'm the dream of the hour.    I need not mention the months because we are what we am and I am so Goddamn beautiful when I cringe.   So take it away, yeah, the grass and the gravel, the ice and the ash and the snow and the petals.      (I will cringe either way so let me just stay the same and I'll leave in the morning)      "I hope you fucking love it, sweetie."   That's what you said as I sliced through the mountains.   And if you want honesty, well, you know where to find me.   My lips never lie and I'm only trying to save my life.   And I really hope that you really don't mind that I use all your lines inside of my lines.   And oh my God, it's getting much worse because I can't remember what's a dream or a memory.