Hold me up to the sun and it becomes clearer
I'm counterfeit:
I clip my style from trashed magazines.
I've built a persona from bricks without straw.
Hold me up to the sun, and
you'll find no watermarks.

Too much, the number of days spent
                            wasting away
learning how to
                            not waste away
and then
                            wasting away
                                                    the next day
                                                                          anyway.

Too far, the sum total of all those futile miles,
running toward "a better tomorrow"
and then having
                              a better next twenty minutes.

Too hopeless, now I cast
the past's ashes into the air
and subsequently wallow in them.