i was told to find myself,
so i started reading the newspaper
and i found a picture of a woman,
dead at thirty with two kids and a husband.

i don't know why i wrote that.
it was true,
but it had nothing to do with me.
that's how easy it is to get carried away
and now the rest of this will be
intellectual psychobabble about myself
because i can't stop myself from getting in the way
so i'm fighting and fighting
and never understanding
but if love was a pure action,
it'd probably be the action of
running your fingers softly down someone's spine.

i can't be here now,
because i'm stuck in yesterday
and no matter how many times i push against the plastic
it won't break,
and the oxygen's getting awfully thin.

wake up i tell myself
but when did i ever listen to that voice?
i miss the cold
and i ain't talking about the forty degrees cold,
i'm talking the type of cold that can kill if
you stay in it longer than five minutes without
proper winter wear.

i hate finding myself.

04/18/2010

Author's Note: i'm interested. but i just don't know the way

Posted on 04/18/2010
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