Some days aren't worth saving
Neither is self
I burn inside
but for what?
I know not
Things inside I can't define
The sun went down ages ago
Plotting my path
as if it's up to me
Now I use my sleeve
to wipe the snot
from my running nose
Where do I fit?
I'm sick of it
Sick of nothing happening
of making the same mistakes
of begging and pleading
for the same old wrongs
I must be blind

03/19/2003

Author's Note: I feel like this sometimes

Posted on 03/20/2003
Copyright © 2025 John Harder