The workadays were propping
The bar quietly erasing the week and
I was in the corner booth thinking
(pretending to read)
About the possibility of one
To love unconditionally and the words that
Drive into the ground
Their repetition starts to thin their meaning.
Then everything got frighteningly still
As they entered and intersected the
Floor and I tried to choke my stare
At the perfection that others would kill for
But all of the parts are the same on every face
(few variables change)
The differences pale
When compared to the similarities they share
Finally there is clarity and there is purpose after all
But every night ends the same
As I'm collapsing once more by your side
Finally there is clarity:
This tiny life is making sense,
And every drop numbs the both of us
But I alone am staggering.
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