Is this the rest of my life?
Hands ticking, passing the time
Brush those teeth, part your hair right
One large sip, frozen in mind

Is this the rest of my life?
Hands ticking, passing the time
You say maybe, I say fine
Trap my sorrow, hold me tight

It's freeing
you can do whatever you want
no one to hold you accountable

It's terrifying
you could fall into bed and never leave
no one to help you when you need it

“You’re a mess
Go to bed
Eat some food get some rest
Don’t you know it’s easier that way”


Clean my mess
Go to bed
Buy more food, I’m a wreck
Who the hell would know it’s so much easier this way...


There was a voice inside my head,
But I may have misheard it
I don’t know for sure
But would if I knew ears were working
I’ve been listening to the earth my ear pressed up against her surface
But lessons that I’ve learned could all be crude and oh so worthless

I walk through valleys that are only low as mountains can be high
I walk through streets without my shoes beneath the stars and lamppost lights
But the questions that I’m asking leave me searching far and wide

It’s like I dug myself a whole
and have to see how deep it goes
But it’s only six feet under
And as an aging hand may lay a rose upon my grave


This is what happens when kids have questions I guess.

There is no such thing as adulting
There is no such thing as growing up
Biological age cannot be an indicator
A source of income cannot be a dictator
The drama that disguises you as a sufferer
is apt for twitter and synonymous with tumblr
You can look like 50 but still behave like a toddler
Age, intellect , experience and memory don’t matter
Clarity of thought , clarity in action
is what everyone wants, just pay attention
Stages of life are only byproducts of imagination

I am so afraid of becoming White Collar Micheal.
He likes to act like his life is so hopelessly blightful, because his name is White Collar Micheal.
On the weekend, he throws on a tie-dye.
Goes from Business Man, to Mr. Nice Guy?
Deep down you know it's a facade, aka,
Your big life's a big lie.  
He does so many uppers you may as well call it the tweekend.
He fills his mind with illusions of grandeur.
I look at him and think "you need to be a man first."
Instead of filling my head with candy and dreams, I face my demons.
And it's utterly delightful because I know I will never become a
White Collar Micheal.

he wants to leave and i help him to pack
because i know where things are
because i want to keep them for myself  

no wonder he’s not sticking around
an abrupt invasion of privacy is bound to end this way
good thing he didn’t burn all the bridges just yet
they welcome him back with open hands

we talk about a friend of a friend who’s friend with other friends but not ours
twice removed thrice forgotten at the party
no bad blood but don’t hold your breath for wedding invitation
i don’t have an appropriate dress and no means to come by 
since we’re started talking in lower voices about grown-up things like mortgage and 401k
we’re in an endless cycle of negotiation
with ourselves and each other
so long, don't think I'll ever throw a party for this tea set for six

This time it's not the sadness that's keeping me awake at night
But it's the responsibility I have to face in the morning