Paper Planes

Why do people act colder in the heat of crowds?

Do we need less people to give more love?

I am writing this in a crowded bar

the smoke of other peoples’ lungs poisoning our air

nobody cares

as we came to share our bodies not our souls.

And I flicked a bug from my finger

I thought I’d squashed it against the table

but, it picked itself up, amazing, cause bugs don’t have fingers

and I wondered if I would be able

to pick myself after such a crushing blow

to just take wing and never stop to go

to fly away as though nothing had happened

I don’t think I’d ever wanna land

cause there’s too many hands.

I could live in the air without any fear

I’d call the stewardess, ‘Please bring me my beer!’

I’d never look out the window

I’d never think of down below.

My heart’s a paper tiger

mere words could cage me

and the actions of another can make me misjudge me

but watch this bug just fly away

maybe I should buy a ticket for that airplane.

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