trust me when i say
time has a way
of throwing it all in your face.
hopeful days slip through the grasp
of your fingers
and daylight leaves you,
taking your reasons with her
there is a desire to be completely invested
but do nothing at all.
there is a tendency to lie flat on a cold wooden floor
where things seem to be able to fix themselves,
stare blankly at the ceiling as if it will change things
there is a passion lost
she is lost.