I spend these days..
Shouting at the four walls in my head.
Chasing my thoughts.
Catatonic in bed.
I spend these days…
Like cold, quick, currency.
Like there’s gotta be a hole in my pocket.
Days drop like dollars.
And I can’t seem to stop.
Giving them away.
Every now and then, there’s a piece of change that I wish would stay.
But, I guess it fell out that hole in my pocket.
Cause somehow i’ve lost it.
poked out and dropped it.
They say the nail that sticks out is the one that gets hammered down.
I can’t tell if that’s better than being lost and not found.