should be sleepin
or cleaning,
reading
but crying seems a
better fit.
the first drop
fell to the bottom of that
lonesome hole
vulnerabilities only told to the
sharpest thorn
and still go back there to spill.
i can't or maybe i just won't
which is worse
too much pride or the wall of silence
we built
my memory won't fail me
when i want it to the most
i was wrong
i was wrong
i was wrong
still not convinced
stubborn, always said so.
just comfortable
i could save the whole world
and only want to show you.
i smile for you,
thursday nights are you.
afraid to tell any soul
all my scares,
you know them by heart.
never feared
all the wounds
roses grew again, again
again
to be happy
when you knew exhilerating
awfully scary
so i call on this warm-
cold night
to tell the most painful thorn
my troubles,
wouldn't admit gray water to
anybody but you...
comfort me and
wound me in the
same voice.

but i won't call.
i'll open a file and
write another chapter of
memories.
in the morning
i'll feel like a fool...
all over again.