Talking to myself so I won't forget. With a cup of coffee and a cigarette. When midnight strikes, so does its regret. And nothing good happens when the moon is set.
I am someone you used to know. Maybe love. Not too long ago. Me, the self righteous Romeo. Where art thou my Juliet?
And the elevator only goes to the basement. And everyone driving is drunk. And the drugs don't work as well as they used to. And all those familiar faces are no longer young. And the phone never rings. And standards and particulars become anyone. And time can't finish running its course fast enough. Talking to myself so I don't self-destruct.
And the mustard seed has been crushed. And neurosis is the new normal. And the drugs don't work as well as I had hoped. And goodbye should never be this informal. And all the familiar faces have become a blur. And the invitations read, Come as you were. Talking to myself becomes literature.
And I've become immune to the placebo effect. And nurturing becomes neglect. And a shower seems so pointless. And the drugs only delay the trainwreck. And my time machine seems outdated. And the caffeine only makes me aggravated. And history saves face by being manipulated. Talking to myself so I don't become automated.
And the last day of summer breeds remorse. And if I could sow the seeds of the hypothetical, you know I would, of course. And all that's left is parity. And all the faces are cloaked in familarity. And we scream in solidarity; only to realize talking to one's self is therapy.
And heaven knows it's going to be a long cold winter.
And all the marrow of life has been drained.
First, comes chaos. Then, comes change.
Then hope replaces regret.
Conversations over a cup of coffee and a cigarette.
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