Morning words that taste so sweet;
But your anticipation hides a hiss that won’t leave
And my attention will dwindle, too, like stars committing suicide
Problems precipitate on the porcelain sink and I think while it pours outside:
What you’re doing is eating at the pillars, your intent
Might very well be testing me like the Ocean tests a new continent
Your questions propel with good intention, but miss with bad-rap
And I drift between them aimlessly making no sense of the roadmap
And where my home is between fun and love and longevity
I watch you in the corner of the motel room as it stretches away from me
Your world crumbles like the end of your "bad habit”
That’s now mine too, and ever since I’ve been washing the red out of my T-shirt
I’ve been blue.