like a used up lighter,
my flame is burning low
barely hot enough
to keep myself alive
i know these patterns
and they scare me,
though every time,
they end the same
i've been sliding ,
can't hold myself up anymore
and it hurts,
to see you rushing by
there is no way
to ease this feeling
it will falter like the winter,
once spring is on its way
my mind is like cotton
but too heavy to carry
give me a minute
and i will hate myself even more
...
march
