She gave me toast and a side of eggs
One Coke, I said, but she gave me two for just in case
I smiled at her but we both knew I didn't mean it

I look to all the wrong idols for proof that I was made for greater things than this
I feel distressed when the sun doesn't set beautifully enough for my liking
As if the only anchor stopping me from flying away is expected to entertain me to the fullest when I ask

A boy shows me the ocean;
He says baby,
Come watch the water with me
And I light up like a torch and dream of the day when I can wake up to such an incredible view
Just like the one he's prepared for me
With sea foam and shells and hidden secrets in the footprints left by strangers and left by us

I was about to jump, I was about to take that plunge

My vision narrows and I crash back into my body and stare out a glass window
Past the ***** road and cold shoulders
To the plains beyond where the grass is brown and muddy and the trees look sunken and sad
And I remember that I am just a girl chasing pretty sunsets in the great Midwest of America
A tear drop streaks down my face into my Coke and I whisper,
I have to be made for greater things than this
I have to be

I had what I thought was a brilliant idea for a poem, once, a short while ago
it crafted itself slowly up my spine and into the quietest parts of my brain where I try to spend most of my time
as I went to align wispy thought with centered, cemented object
an unavoidable task popped up that demanded my attention and distracted me from starting my piece
and just like that,
my brilliant, invisible moment in time was released back into the atmosphere
it is probably hanging around air plane wings and dreaming of things far more important than cloud stuff
I have noticed a measurable pattern akin to this idea that if we do not act on our conscious thought, it can, in a moments' notice, be whisked away from us
while we are and while we breathe and exist, that voice in our minds can come and go as it pleases
we should try our hardest to grasp what we can, maybe
or maybe we should be thankful for the pieces we are allowed to fit together into a thing called life
I don't know, I don't know
it disappeared into thin air

the buzz is a violent truth serum
that enslaves you as its quilled pen

it requires certain demands of you  
things you cringe at upon waking

because suddenly

you've unraveled a beautiful scroll
and marked it with broken charcoal

and kissed it with a wine-stained mouth--
your stamp of drunken approval

to make sure that the one
who should never receive it

is exactly the one
who gets bit on the lips

by your alcoholic kiss
your inebriated, late night diss