A million poppies gonna make me sleep
But just one rose, it knows your name
The fruit is rusting on the vine
The fruit is calling from the trees
Hey, don't you want to go down
Like some junkie cosmonaut
A million miles below their feet
A billion miles, a million miles

To be with you girl, 's like bein' low
Hey, hey, hey, like bein' stoned
To be with you girl, 's like bein' low
Hey, hey, hey, like bein' stoned

It is, y'know. Being around her. It's like I've stopped breathing air, stopped existing either, nothing else matters, nothing else happens, nothing else exists. I look in her eyes and down I go, might as well be drugged, or drunk, or even dead, for all the rest of the world can affect me right at that moment.

A few breaths later the spell breaks, we turn away, the conversation continues, whatever... and that's ok, I like functioning and all, but I know that it's only a matter of time until I'm lost in her again and gods help me, I'm craving it so deeply...

...to be with you, girl, it's like being low... hey, hey, hey, like being stoned...

I particularly love the "Just one rose, it knows your name" bit. My birth name bein' Amber Rose, and all. *grin* For some reason I'm taking every song personally today. Makes me wish I were fuzzed, gods only know how intense this particular musical trip would be with that kind of encouragement. Likely it'd fry my mind for an evening.

I've got lorazepam, and advil, and antibiotics, and stuff for my blood pressure, and stuff for my seizures, and stuff for my chronic pain, and alieve, and aspirin, and a little red pill that will make the bleeding slow if it unexpectedly gets heavy again so as not to, y'know, bleed out while trying to get to a doctor. I've got vodka, and ginger tea, and caffeinated soda, and horchata mix. I've got a lot of things I could put into my body but dammit, none of them will have quite the effect I am suddenly craving. I want to fly tonight, I want it so bad that I'm crying thinking about it.

Sometimes they wanna take you down, sometimes they wanna get you low
I brush your hair back from your eyes
I take you down, let the river flow
Sometimes I'm gonna walk the street
Behind a green sheet of glass
A million miles below their feet
A million miles, a million miles

I'll be with you, girl, like being low
hey, hey, hey, like bein' stoned
to be with you girl, it's like bein' low
hey, hey, hey, like bein' stoned...

It's Sunday. Cate has to work tomorrow, likely so does everyone else we know. Tempted to try calling Becca... meh. I should just be patient, and cope. The more times I cope without putting a pill in my mouth, the stronger I'll be on the days when I HAVE to cope without pills, neh?

...to be with you, girl...

I feel so strange. Yes, I'm bloody sober this morning, not that I take any pleasure in that particular fact. I'd rather be sound asleep, or so drugged I can't hurt, can't think, can only dream. I... I don't even really know why I'm writing this entry, other than that I wanted to post the filk; I'd planned to leave it at that, though. Not this endless babble of things better kept locked away.

'course I'm not even good at that; the Collection already holds enough secrets that I'm amazed it hasn't exploded or caught fire or something. Still, it's confusing enough to be difficult for a stranger to translate, and that really is the way I like it.

...like bein' low...

*wanders off to try to find a less-painful position*