The days drift by carelessly.
You try to catch them recklessly.
You’re a zombie,
and you can’t even fend for yourself,
and there’s no one else
who understands.

But the sun comes up just ahead.
Just when you thought that you’d
be better off dead.
And what does hope mean again?
We all need to know.
We all need to know.

Do I plan for a goal?
Or do I brace for an impact?
Everything you thought you could take back.
We all wish that it didn’t work like that.

What to disect?
So close to being perfect.
But so far away...
So far away...
So tally off another day.

Watch the scenery.
Catch whatever glimpse
that you can manage to see.
Soon you’ll be forced
to face forward so blind and unclear
crash into your fears as they approach.

But the fog clears up just ahead,
and for a second
you let go of the dread.
Then all you see is black and blood red.
You’re screaming, “What do I know?”

Do I plan for a goal?
Or do I brace for an impact?
Everything you thought you could take back.
We all wish that it didn’t work like that.

What to disect?
So close to being perfect.
But so far away...
So far away...
So tally off another day.


So terrified
I’m losing my mind
I’m dying day by day
from what’s not so far away
and you say so far’s enough.
Well this life fucking sucks.

I’ve hit the ground?
I can’t get out!
So will you slow down?

Do I plan for a goal?
Or do I brace for an impact?
Everything you thought you could take back.
We all wish that it didn’t work like that.

What to disect?
So close to being perfect.
But so far away...
So far away...
So tally off another day.


----

Blood runs thick,
since you’ve boiled off all your hate.
and every time you walk,
it feels like you’re lugging dead weight.

Because every step you take
feels like another waste
on another day gone by.
You can’t bring yourself to try,
you’ve cried enough.


And this unlit room is dark,
but just a tad.
And after all,
The mood it sets ain’t bad.

And you start to think
this kind of thing
will last until you die.
and time just doesn’t fly.
it gets tough.

Posture’s slumped,
your joints hurt,
and you ache.
You can’t feel your pulse,
or even tell if you’re awake.

So close your blinds
and stay inside
because you know that you’re scared.

C’est la vie.
And who cares?
Life is life,
And what’s fair is fair.


In your prose,
you overuse the word “dread”,
so you look for something else
to write instead.

There’s so much to do,
but fuck if you
could motivate yourself
to just start something else
to kill your time.


And the room fills up with
piles of empty cans.
And you’re so cold,
you’re afraid to touch your hands.

And you will confess,
this pit’s a mess,
but you’ll sit in your gloom,
this place feels like a tomb
and that’s just fine.


Posture’s slumped,
your joints hurt,
and you ache.
You can’t feel your pulse,
or even tell if you’re awake.

So close your blinds
and stay inside
because you know that you’re scared.

C’est la vie.
And who cares?
Life is life,
And what’s fair is fair.


And why would you pretend?
Is there anything
that you’re able to mend?

Your ability to care
is discarded on the floor.
So face the pain head on
or just ignore...


You forgot
how to even feel irate.
And when you hear good news,
you still can’t relate.

You’ve been played,
and who’s to blame
when it’s probably your fault?

Those thoughts are in a vault
and locked away.

And on this matter,
what is left to say?


Posture’s slumped,
your joints hurt,
and you ache.
You can’t feel your pulse,
or even tell if you’re awake.

So close your blinds
and stay inside
because you know that you’re scared.

C’est la vie.
And who cares?
Life is life,
And what’s fair is...
fair.