Here it goes again. Another poem to describe how useless I am. How tattered my soul is. How my brain resembles my hands, callused, numb, and broken dry skin. I'm a terrible person. Self indulgent and full of sin.
And here it goes again. In the mirror I see nothing. A big steaming pile of nothing. Full of wasted dreams, 'what ifs' and 'one days.' The **** that I write never comes out right. The **** that I dream is just that: a big steaming pile of nothing.
Here it goes again. As if I am something. But I can't get past how useless I am. A speck in this cosmic dust cloud. And here I go again, thinking I am a tornado. How I will crush your dream home and leave behind a big steaming pile of debris.
Here I go again, thinking I am nothing. When really, I am something. I am a speck in this cosmic cloud, without me that tornado wouldn't be.