Do you resent me
for such a hang up?
What am I supposed to do?
Oftentimes I'm torn,
frayed and tattered
along my edges,
trying to dance between
what is right
and what I like.
The stretch of space
between those two
have only grown more vast
with age.
Sprawling wastes fills that void,
wider and wider and
I'm always left reeling from my choice.
Indecision is the ghoul
that haunts my soul,
telling me to
avoid these feelings all told.
For when I do decide,
I can't seem to pick right
and I'm always left
reading the bones.