been kinda dry of inspiration
as of late
been kinda wandering the streets
at night

kinda looking around
crying in the mirror
trying to see when I cry
if it looks sincere.

not to say that I fake it-
whats to fake?
not to say that there is no one else
to cry to

not to say anything
that might offend you
not to constantly repeat
what you already knew.

sort of been staring
at photographs of myself
sort of been nocturnal
since you left

sort of forget myself
when thinking through your eyes
wanted to find a little comfort
vicariously in your lies.

been kinda, sort of
the skeleton in your closet
been kinda, sort of
enjoying the moment

been kinda, sort of
not getting up in the morning
starving and wasting away,
ignoring your last warning.

So I, maybe, followed
you down the garden path
so you came out but maybe
I will not come back.