It happens too easily these days...
I end up with a mustache or a teardrop.
Together they're too much but none is not enough.
Crying over love or pressure.
Never both.
Never together at the same time.
Living in solitude.
Among the other lost ones that sometimes forget how lost they are.
Escaping in the walk to the grocery shops.
Or the drilling through the walls.
The brick walls that have holes now.
At least it's warm outside...
At least the sun is shining today.
But I'm thinking as I'm sitting: what am I still doing?  Still being.
I need to go somewhere to find something else.
Or else I'm a dead woman every day.
Taken away by everything.
Too much.
A quirky little mustache.
A pretty little tear.
A dancing in the street.
A song on the staircase.
Real true love.
Too much pressure.
Too much.
Mustache!