Better Than I Thought

(i beseech your pardon as I borrow one of my own phrases to start this off. *ahem*)

It's a quiet sort of emptiness

that echoes as a teardrop falls 

into the void.

It's a subtle ache behind your chest

where something flowered up and grew

in certain light.

It's not quite what you'd have tried to guess

when peeking out from self-made walls.

You're not destroyed.

It's good to know that after some rest

with time to think the ending through

You'll be alright.

Being Honest

You're just . . .

Gross.

I'm sorry, but there it is. I said it. You honestly repel me, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Though if we're being honest here, (and as previously stated, I am, at least; dunno about you) there's nothing I want to do about it. I shouldn't have to find you appealing. That's written nowhere in the cards or the rules or the stars or what have you.

What you have is nothing that is attractive to me in the slightest bit.

You're just . . .

You're gross.

And I guess I'm not that sorry.


Sorry.

Fuzzy around the edges isn't a metaphor

So very. Very. Very tired.

This never used to be a problem that I used to have. The tireds, I mean. If I wanted to stay up later, I'd just do it. It wasn't an issue.

Now I fall asleep very much against my will and at the most inopportune times and sometimes even in the most undesirable places. Just all the sleep all the time whenever I have time.

I don't much care for it, you know?