Here you are
It's 3 AM and you find yourself trying to write your next great poem
and you're ****** at yourself because you ate all of those calories
and you feel betrayed by Mr. Bubble because even he can't make you feel better
Water so cold it's hot
Water so hot it's cold
You crack your knuckles under that water
And oh what an odd sound it makes
You think the faucet is cranked tight
but still it drips
Drips, drips
drips
Rippling into your puddle of scripted dreams