got so much writing to do
and a money flow
no debts i owe
i don't owe anybody anything
it's the smallest things
pad of paper you packed just in case
i'm writing fucking symphonies in moleskin's and blackberries
and BAM, there's one day without the milligrams
bar graphs wouldn't do it right
so line graphs show these fickle times
anywhere from 5 to 30 in the bad days and the worse
i keep telling myself
that this would happen
i knew it from the start
even the youngest days
the most innocent, unassuming days
always looming in the mind
always looming, back of mind
i used to think about how it would play out
a tragic comedy
one where we all die
or maybe just me
in the play i saw strained and fake keiastionships
so i stopped right there
there was nothing new
why'd you have to do what you always do?

you lose
you lose