Flow

Do you remember when we first met?
The shaking of our hands?
The cold gross sweat?
Showing symptoms of summer: amazement and wonder.
How could I ever forget?
And I just wanna...
As cold as winter, friendships they wither.
And fall apart at the seams.
I know you know what I mean.
And it goes on and on and on.
Self analysis; the catalyst for my inaccurate criticism.
I try to hide it, but some days I can't fight it.
And some weeks I feel weaker.
And some months they just keep dragging on.
Essentially, I am a martyr.
A friend for hire.
A ride home.
I bite the hand that feeds cause its other hand's around my fucking neck.
Quit depending on me.
Quit asking for every fucking thing.
See, there's an art to letting go and I can't even color between the lines.
I'm stuck all the time between I love you and fuck you.
I want to figure it out but every time I try I get stuck in the basics.
I guess that's why I'm jaded, I hate it.
Work, eat, sleep, repeat, misery.
Its all the fucking same to me.
Just let it go, just let it flow.
See, we're all just starving artists pushing away our plates.
Begging for attention that we act like we don't see.
Every night I'm sacrificed to memories
And every morning I'm resurrected by reality.
I don't want to be a prizefighter.
To hold the hollow, heavy, rotten trophy that is your attention.
It burns my hands.
I'll never understand. see less