His favorite part?
It feels like he's done everything.
Every.
*******.
thing.
And nothing seems to be doing jack

The silence is interwoven, locking out
All that he needs so sincerely.

There's just anger brewing in the black ***
And the kettle's there too... somewhere

And just like that,
         He's back to square one
                Feeling a lowly sort of depressed
         He thought was over
Oh so long ago

He sits in overwhelming
Silence

In a sense, protesting what was ne'er to
Be

With a beer in one hand, and work in the
Other

There's much to be done,
Here

This silence, he
Realizes

Is like an interwoven
Blanket

Seemingly nothing gets
Through

Not even what he needs
Most

And it's like you expect me not to hurt;
I mean I am the perpetrator,
but that doesn't make it any
Easier

Easier would have been everything working
All the cogs aligning, workin' properly

I almost lost it on a .gif
I almost cried from viewing something that reminded me.

I made the right choice, because the cogs are aligning on my side,
they're workin' properly
But that doesn't make this grandfather clock creak any less.

I just want to write one more,
      before I become an adult again.

Aaaaah, ***** my side-ache
And ***** me inside

I left my mind back a couple of days ago,
I'm behind on the times

Football, Meetball, Youball, eyeball

Wordplay's for *******, and I'm oh so catty.

What's wrong with digestion?
And where's my humerus when I need it most?

I have little left to say to either you or I, but I'll keep talking so it looks like I'm halfway to a quarter of insanity.

I miss not touchés or is it touches?
Relationships, man.
What's the best of these and what's the worst of 'em?

Strap me to a bomb so my thoughts get exploded for all to see.

I never wanted to put you ahead of me,
and that's a lie.

Crude and ****** words are for the crude and ****** birds
As I ****, ****, ****, and otherwise defecate on everything that ever mattered to you or I

Clever sweat beads cascade off the forehead of someone far more important than I
And the cleverest of intentions leave the cleaverest wounds in the forethoughts of those who I care for

Nevermind you or I, or the fact that these words have yet to grace the thought-o-sphere,
let us be, let us me
Let us remember who we tried to aren't.

Insecurities be ******,
I have words.