I'm hesitant to begin something that may not be completed.
One more stepping stone I'll stare at for too long until it crumbles and washes away. Washes away with the whiskey on my stove.
I need a mystery. A last call that only I am present for. No more mistakes, no more apologies that are worth nothing.
I was a happy child, I think. I don't remember, but this is what I am told.
Maybe I'm making up for lost time. Pushing people off of my side. My side of life.
I want to be worth the fight.
Were I more beautiful, perhaps I would be happier. Though I know I'm not ugly...
Just watch the drops; the stumbling, shaking acid that finally falls and falls apart.
I'm tangled in my own hair and can't go anywhere, laughing and stopping and singing and writing and not making sense.
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