I am sick of myself and all of my problems.
I am sick of my lack of ambition.
I am sick of my overwhelming need to do the wrong thing,
And the lack of the need to do what's right.
I am sick of sitting here and writing these stories,
About a life that has grown so boring.
I am sick of the weather and how it changes.
And I am sick of my desperation;
However,
I enjoy the smell of spring and the smile on certain people's faces,
And I guess that's enough for me.