I started by waking up today,
tied my shoes and brushed my hair.
I painted a bitter smile on my face,
I hoped for somebody to take my place.
I can stand the way you stare, wide eyed,
hoping that soon I will fall straight to pieces
like that old London bridge we’ve all come to love.

I promised myself long ago,
I would never find myself so bad off--
falling over my feet in a backwards tango.
It either is or it isn't, and I can't begin
to make light of how there could be an "is",
in such a situation as this.

I made it through the day,
breathing heavily and clawing at the seams
of everything that is supposed to hold so well together.
I cannot seem to get over him, and I'm sure
this is not the way I wanted it to go.
I do not trust. I do not think. I do not like.
Yet here I am, on the bank of anxiety.
I find myself foaming at the mouth,
from this madness we call lust.
Lust for contact, lust for care.
Lust for all things and pure and good as he.

I came home to an empty house,
laid down and left myself to wander.
Is this true, is it even slightly real?
Have I lost myself inside of my head,
in hopes that maybe something good will come,
or have I simply just lost my time?
I made a decision, a horrible one it seems,
that come Monday I will grow the courage.
Else I burst right out of these tearing seams.