Pseudo

It's when expectations sink so
low enough to rival standards
and with disappointed, red-rimmed eyes
that my grip slips from the handle
Can't keep a better future in mind
and I feel like I've failed again this time.
If I could get it right
If I could sleep at night
I wouldn't have to fall.
If I could just bring myself to call
and let you talk me down
or let anyone in at all
or look beyond myself to get my eyes up off the ground.
I find such inconvenient times to come apart.

I can hardly complete my
thoughts and I blame it all on my
faults because I can't grasp that nothing's
wrong
Dissolve into anger and hate
the voices that destroy
my silence when the music fades.

I waste complaints and lies
Crumble with missteps
or thoughts of goodbyes.
Why. Why. Why. Can't. I.

Ignore like I did those lonely winter nights.
and fold into shallow breaths.