Among many things,
I've given up on sleeping in my bed,
reading self-help novels,
and hanging on the adages.
Words are slippery, and hard to hold on to.
I'll let the snow speak for me and just embrace my wet shoes.
Among many things,
I've started counting out my steps
to a triple meter, it's more fun to minuet,
when you're by yourself any way,
and the only toes you can step on are an entire town away.
The saddest thought I ever had
was when I realized that this was not some
over-arcing plot progression.
No grand display of affection, no great result from rejection,
just a lack of direction and a lot of things left unanswered.
Among many things,
I love my friends, my family, but these fucking distractions
will get the best of me
and I know I'm only a good stones throw away from cracking.
I'm not heartless, but I'm certainly lacking.
And I know that I can't base a life around staring at the ceiling,
but these days remain hostile and unappealing.
And I can't tell if it's the Winter that chills your shoulder,
but I know that if I called, you wouldn't answer.
Can you douse me in water or here my unjustified shouts?
'cuz I've found an awful successful way of burning out.
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