Spiraling

They don’t want my love. They just want my potential. I’d die and fall forever if I only knew who is my soulmate. Sulfate I’m used in many ways. I’d sell my soul and use my good deeds to buy it back if I knew who with I’ll be spending my days. Most of y’all won’t see the hurt. You will hear it, it hurts. I can stand alone but alone I can only get worse. Who will I be after this? No one. Who am I after this? No one. I’m lame people won’t noticed me. Noticeably I write in my notes for comfort but it doesn’t hold me. It’s fairly odd, if I get everything I’ve ever wish for it could considered godly. I think I understand what take on me mean. I’m a loner with a partial stoner character, a cornball who will die and I’ll be gone in a day or two I sing. It’s saying you’ll only remember me for them days so let’s not waist time, like a clock on a belt. A heart written letter to describe feelings, it was meant to be heartfelt. I know somewhere someone sitting there pulling strings to make a song of my pain I’ll destroy the harp. It’ scripted but I’ll get kicked off set on purpose cause I don’t want the part. I don’t know who made it was thinking, it’s not smart. But I can’t challenge what god already put his paint brush on so my pain is art. Stored in galleries food for thought eating with it high calories. You can’t burn them off either. Ironic it’s crushing your wind pipe but you need it to take a breather. How far the rabbit hole goes? I don’t know nor give a fuck I’ll take you deeper. Dirty floors in need of mop and glow common relations but bout as patient as cleaning a gas stove with the worst degreaser. I can get as opposite as a suit on Easter. I came clean. I’d miss the times where the sex was dirty but we came clean. We couldn’t smell our shit like it didn’t stink but everything opened when our break up became saline. I haven’t felt this way since I was 18 thought I ran out of tears, walking them sidewalks but then side thoughts thought I was going crazy. And I am, I’m spiraling like a Brady pass over 90 miles and 40 years but I don’t plan on retiring. These love streets are filled with quick sand. You struggle you sink fast but ima dog on some jimmy neutron I goddard blast. So next time you feel as if you’re weak think you’re made of steel. Like Logan, love is old and wounds slow but it still heals. And even if so I’m paid in tears, how the fuck did I get on this payroll? It’s an eye roll with dried tears but a ball thrown into a spiral.