I hold on to my cigarette for that last drag,
Right before I almost flick it
The last breath of calming air,
The last moment to not worry.
I salute the sky with my cup
To taste the last drop of bourbon
Because sleeping sober seems daunting.
I watch the pines bend, hearing them creak,
With the scent of old oak split for the fire,
I'm nervous and confident and shy
And outgoing and hateful and happy,
And I love kissing and cooking,
I've been to almost every state,
Taking in gorgeous terrain,
I write for "you" for "her" for "me",
For "them" and about nothing,
I sing from my heart and develope
True lies from what's inside me,
I want my friends and family to
Die first so that I know no one will
Will miss me because dying is bad enough,
But knowing they're hurting more is worse.
I look up at the stars at night when
I can see them, and I wonder
"Where am I going?"
And every time, I swear to God,
A shooting star flies.
You'd think something so fast would
Make a sound, but its silence only
Preserves it's glory.
I always heard that they were rare,
I've seen so many, I've lost count,
And honestly, I think that's a tragedy
Because I should awe and wonder at such
Faithless beauty.
I don't think that I am different,
I think I am myself,
But I also counter argue
With the fact that if everyone were themself
We'd all be the same.
Individual sheep in a herd.
These are mindless ramblings,
Of a worried and loving person,
But also the fears of a mildly depressed human.
I go back home to clear my head
And appreciate that I am welcome.
It's an odd thought, but I realize
That is one hundred times better than
Some people have it.
I'm concerned but greatful,
I'm awash with misery,
I'm excited and resilient,
And happy, and dismayed.
It's hard when you know who you are,
But not how to Be.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
I hold on to my cigarette for that last drag,
Right before I almost flick it
The last breath of calming air,
The last moment to not worry.
I salute the sky with my cup
To taste the last drop of bourbon
Because sleeping sober seems daunting.
I watch the pines bend, hearing them creak,
With the scent of old oak split for the fire,
I'm nervous and confident and shy
And outgoing and hateful and happy,
And I love kissing and cooking,
I've been to almost every state,
Taking in gorgeous terrain,
I write for "you" for "her" for "me",
For "them" and about nothing,
I sing from my heart and develope
True lies from what's inside me,
I want my friends and family to
Die first so that I know no one will
Will miss me because dying is bad enough,
But knowing they're hurting more is worse.
I look up at the stars at night when
I can see them, and I wonder
"Where am I going?"
And every time, I swear to God,
A shooting star flies.
You'd think something so fast would
Make a sound, but its silence only
Preserves it's glory.
I always heard that they were rare,
I've seen so many, I've lost count,
And honestly, I think that's a tragedy
Because I should awe and wonder at such
Faithless beauty.
I don't think that I am different,
I think I am myself,
But I also counter argue
With the fact that if everyone were themself
We'd all be the same.
Individual sheep in a herd.
These are mindless ramblings,
Of a worried and loving person,
But also the fears of a mildly depressed human.
I go back home to clear my head
And appreciate that I am welcome.
It's an odd thought, but I realize
That is one hundred times better than
Some people have it.
I'm concerned but greatful,
I'm awash with misery,
I'm excited and resilient,
And happy, and dismayed.
It's hard when you know who you are,
But not how to Be.
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