I am a miserable ****.

Traffic jam thoughts.
Aimless speech.
Fever dreams,
coffee with no cream,
love with no pulse,
alone at restaurants,
            at grocery stores,
            at parties.

I have no identity.

Shifting shape, black to blue,
trading girls, red hair for Persian skin,
parents and gods,
politicians and lost purpose mobs,
all asking me to be sacred,
                            to be loving,
                            to be trusting,
                            to be active,
                            to have no spine.

All I want is a bit of my own time.

A grenade of change,
to end the coagulation of my brain,
to leave me hungry for anything
other than me,
didn't somebody say I was promised something?
                                            I was going somewhere?
                                            I was unique?

I am the same miserable ****,

As every other miserable ****.

The ******* that cut you off on Highway 62,

The person that complained about too many pickles,
on his precious fast food,

The boy yelling at his baby sister for getting too much attention,

The girl sexting your boyfriend,

The boy sexing your girlfriend,

The generation divorcing everyone it knows so it can fall in love with

itself.

All different,
in exactly the same way.

Traffic jam thoughts. Traffic jam thoughts.
                   Traffic jam thoughts. Traffic jam thoughts.
            trafficjamthoughts. traffic. Traffic Jam Thoughts. Thoughts.
Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Jam.
thoughts. traffic. trafficjam. trafficjam. traffic jam thoughts.traffic.
traffic jam. traffic, traffic, traffic. I am a miserable ****. Traffic jam.

There is one in every corner of this building.
I just want to be alone.
Go find another one.
Dumb *******.

Her beautiful memories she kept in a box.
A box in her closet, inside it a lock. 
A lock of red hair from someone she knew,
from someone she loved when he was brand new.
 
She gave him her heart before he was born ,
she never thought twice, it was his all along. 

A little small shoe lay next to the lock,
and next to the shoe was a little small sock.
The sock to remind her of ten little toes.
The shoes to remind her that someday he'd go.

She gave him her heart, She knew he would break it.
She never thought twice, he'd need it to make it.

Last in the box was a photo of him,
his clothes all a mess, and that silly grin. 
She loved him now like she loved him then,
In her eyes he could do no sin.
 
She gave him her heart before he was born.
She never thought twice, it was his all along.
 
What beautiful memories he keeps in his heart,
the one that she gave him before he was born.