it's all fine
(everything in my head is all just a bunch
of inane banter)
childish, i know.
suffice to say
it fits.
i don't even want to know what it is anymore
that makes me turn
because some time off would be nice.
i can't watch my sorrows drown
in the bottom of someone else's bottle
anymore.
to be dry is lonely
but of sound mind is beauty.
all of this is just scraps of what i wanted to say;
you'll never hear me say it.
the only word you'll hear instead is
lachrymose.