I know a million things, and they aren't doing me a damn bit of good right now. When you look around, and all you see is the dark creeping in and all you hear is the silence of someone not crying...
Look, I don't claim to be anything other than worthless. I don't claim to be sensitive or intelligent or strong. I'm just me, and I don't really know what that is.
You look at me like I should be able to lead, like I should be able to plan, like I should be able to save the day. And I can only look back at you in apology.
I'm no hero.
Muddy, stagnant water. Cheap liquor at an expensive party. A dropped glass in a silent house, that light over your desk that never stops buzzing, and the pants that constantly inch up your ass crack.
Pick one, pick 'em all. It doesn't matter, as long as you don't rely on them. Because misinformation is all fun and games until dependency is involved.
That dark alley is the perfect shortcut until the one night that it isn't. The fog and the too-dark hour and the footsteps echoing that aren't your own. Metaphorical, but life lessons are never learned through gentleness.
It isn't a game to anyone, because there is no fun and there is no playing, and there is no score. But whatever it is, we're both still losing, and if you think it's nice to be haunted, I must inform you that you are mistaken. So sit there in silence, and I'll sit here in solitude, and we'll ignore whatever it is we're supposed to solve.
I don't mind--I'm always looking for a new way to fail. But careful where you dance, my love: it is a long way down, and when I promised to always catch you, I neglected to mention that I would be falling, too.