I’d like to try that **** where I don’t rhyme
I say to the willow tree as I sit beside her

I like men who are creative
This is me trying to be THAT guy
Honestly, though, I don’t think it’s working

I’m stuck inside most days
It used to be self-inflicted
But it’s paid, now… is that the same?

Like a grandfather clock
I’m passing back and forth on this ever
Wavering face of feelings marked as numbers

Like ******* clockwork, I can almost time my feelings
There’s the norm for you.
Have I scared you away yet?

Hell, I don’t think you’d ever say honestly.
I could always be wrong though…
But will you look at me the same?

I can’t seem to be a man in either respect.
I don’t **** ******* and punch *****
But I don’t give up myself and hang on sticks.

I don’t know where I am
And that last stanza left a ******* taste
Than the aftertaste of lemon shanty.

Yeah, that ******.