Wishy Washy

There are so many things that inspire me,

there are so many people I wish I could meet,

and I’ll still feel this way

as I lie on my deathbed

looking back on my life and having my last thought be

that there were so many things I never knew,

that there were so many things I wanted to do.

True inspiration is impossible to find,

our universe is completely and romantically entwined.

I find it sort of beautiful, and a bit depressing,

that we’re all connected in one atrocious way;

that we’re all alive, but whether we’re all living,

is an entirely different story.

My wrist is hurting and my desperation is begging to go.

There will be nothing I regret more

than having to accept that I will never accomplish or create

anything that caused revelation to someone else’s struggling;

I will always regret that the day will never come

where someone will listen to my words

and taste them on their tongue

and feel the way I feel today.

My concentration’s been lost and now I am too,

for what am I when I’m not put into words?

How can I understand the world when I can’t comprehend

that everything and nothing will come to an end?

True faith is hard to come by, and there’s a reason for that,

but to call it divine intervention is a bit of a stretch.

This song doesn’t have a chorus,

I’m sick of repetition,

I’m sorry you can’t sing along;

maybe you should learn the meaning

and listen for once.

My words aren’t for everyone,

not every ear can handle this sound.

If yours can I pity you, because these feelings I feel

aren’t ones I’d wish on anyone real.

Author's Note

Thoughts, questions, comments?