All this nothing on my hands
All I have
Such a fully grown man
Yet such a small child
I guess it's all just relative
And it doesn't matter if
Or how hard I try
I'll never know what she said
I never have
Never heard her
Or seen her as a matter
Of fact
Still claim to be intact
So predictable I could throw
Up and down another bottle
All these "nevers" that I cradle
Used to feeling this
Whole sad-and-empty-filled-ness
It's pitiful
The way I pity myself
And all these scheduled
Breaks and thought-out rhymes
And these so-called-honest lines
So open and real
And totally unclear
It beats on
And sometimes a happy end slides along
Just for a second
Then gone

12/2005