Part II (Motel Art)

This isn't what I hoped I'd have to say.
It's nothing that you want to hear.
To say that nothing's changed would be understating understatement.
Things change, times change- I remain the same,
but (only) distantly familiar.
Is this the way it is or just the way I've let it be?
I lie, I cheat, I steal, I kill.
If I could sleep, I dream of having reasons to wake up.
They lie, they cheat, they steal, they kill;
And every night they fall asleep content.
It's not depression for depression's sake,
or desperation for a song.
This is every day.
This is all I know.
So sick of days, dreading the nights.
So tired of fighting to keep off the lights.
So sick of searching for what's going to make it right. \
And now you're sick of the same song?
I'm sick of writing it.
Falling apart when nothing's wrong.
I wish I could could write a line, a sentence, or a word
that could pretend for long enough to give you what you want.
I wish I could write a line, a sentence, or a word that could
pretend for long enough to tell me what I want.
But there's no resolution here,
I've learned better than to wish.
There's no resolution here.
There is only this.