seventy

This morning is shouting your name like a headline
And it's almost easy to mourn
As long as I don't dream of better days.
But both hurt just the same.
If I am feeling guilty for having a little bit of hope,
(Not saying I'll admit it)
Maybe that's why it's hard to get up on days like this
When it's apparent I'm a failure
And I haven't spent time on my facade.
I wish I could say I'm sorry for all the feigned confidence,
I really can't help it sometimes, it's more of an obligation to society than anything.
Plus there's the lie that I'm weaker when I fall apart.
However, since we're doomed to beat around the bush,
(Because after all, talking is the unforgivable sin)
I guess I'll have to leave my apologies and my coded messages to poetry on a blog I doubt you read.
I don't have much to say.
But silence is better than stupid decisions,
And that's one lesson I've failed to learn.

(I can't help but wonder
What goes through your head sometimes.
But at the end of the day,
It's got to be the same sort of shit as mine.)