Danger: Words may be larger than they appear.

Me and my stupid fucking words, I brag about how I understand them, But somehow I manage to fuck them up whenever I really need them, I don't write enough, I talk too damn much, And I don't really DO anything, Every time I've wanted them to come out right, They fall flat, And every time I'm using them for someone else's benefit they work, Which explains my selfless nature to me, Only lately its a lot less about everyone else, Because I'm fucking tired of me, The skin I'm in is itchy for change, inside and out But I'm too fucking exhausted to deal with working on myself, Fuck Home Depot.

Some days I wake up as the chalk outline of the man I was yesterday, The kind of days where you get phone calls that the father that abandoned you is moving home, And he thinks everything is okay between you two because you picked up the phone the last one of five times he's called, Those were spread across 2 years, The kind of day where every mistake you've ever made with women feels heavier than normal, The kind of day where I notice, The walls I used to keep in my head, The ones that protected my heart from the thoughts up there I didn't like, Have suddenly switch-a-roo'd their way to my heart, They're holding in my fears in a place where I can feel them, They make me want to run, From myself, The kind of day that makes you itch for the rain, As if it were some kind of absolution, So I start at a run, Down the street, Across the city, And on into the unknown because it sounds nicer than being here, Stuck in my head with walls a