Eloquent words escape me
until I find a better mood,
but the thoughts of my heartache are pests in my mind
that the air of plain words must delude.

I've tried to leave in silence
and forget that I ever cared,
but I'm sick and stupid - other words, in love - so
it's too late for my heart to be spared.

I've tried not to be angry
and see things from inside your eyes,
but with every look, my doubtful thoughts thicken and
then strengthen the basis for goodbyes.

Where there was comfort, it's lost
and I'm left with nowhere to turn,
'cause who could find solace among nothing but smoke
from this ruse that's done nothing but burn?

I wish I'd really be helped
with some sick sort of sympathy,
but all it means to me is that I've been pitied
beyond your fashion for apathy.

If I had poise, it left me
and now I feel nothing but shame,
'cause I let myself think I meant something special
so I guess I alone can be blamed.


9/28/06
 
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