It's been hard to say anything that hasn't been said before. Before you throw me away, would you take time to say I still mean something at all? Of all the empty books I still say the most.
The most you could do is the least you could say. You could say I'm feeling bitter. Bitter would be better than neglected. Neglected you have better things to do. Better think you need me to stay afloat.
Afloat in a swamp of apathy, apathetically swept along without current. Currently it has everything to do with me. What'll you do with me when it gets hard to sink?
It's so hard to find time for what you love.
Track Name: A Bathtile Green - I Don't Wanna Tell You Something I've Already Heard
I inherited my father's neuroticism. I pushed it back, a carefree callous crapshoot. But more and more I find myself washing my hands down to the bone making note every subtle signal accumulating an archive of every twitch.
You can't stop my hands from shaking. But you can hold them still til half past whenever. I don't have a watch to look at. I probably lost it with your glasses. Something missing for every moment.
And what's to keep you from checking your cell phone every two minutes? Time to check the time to check out. No new texts. Same old doubts.
And I worry that I'm pissing you all off. (Stop fucking writing this all down. Sift through minced words burnt brown. Keep thoughts of words offensive. Break me off a piece of a little less sensitive.)