And then I'll have everything I need. And then I'll have the tools to start the deed. And then I'll kiss you, cause I won't be afraid. And then I'll lie in the bed that I just made. Listening to the chaotic rhythms thumping in my brain. And singing loud, and singing hard, while dancing in the rain. And why so far away? Why can't salvation be here? And why should I ever chose to win the lost by fear? And alarm clocks with blood red digits leaving crimson fingerprints on the time that I should be asleep. With their opinions of my performance hidden in the beep, beep, beep.
I lose. I lose sleep. I count my nights in deadlines. I move. I slowly creep, as I muddle through these head-rhymes. If I turn in now, it's six hours till dawn. If I write three more verses, that's sixteen seconds gone. Words like a shotgun spray on a public bathroom stall. Cause I've got no time to think if I want to write it all. Why do I always get there just a single step behind? Why do all my confessions come a single space per line?
Meet me here as I try to conclude. It's not the poem that makes me sick, it's just my attitude. Not that you should understand. Your heaving chest beneath your shirt. Because it's me that's heading into it and him that's getting hurt. And random confessions found easy to write when all is stripped away. It's the idea that maybe I'm a fraud and tomorrow is judgment day.
  ¶ 12:52 PM