So That's What They Mean

please excuse the stench of desperation.

i'll apologize in advance

because i know that i'll blow my only chance.

can i speak with a bit of candor?

you're all i think about these days.

it's so pathetic, i know, but i don't know how to change.

this summer was so ridiculous;

so many drunk nights and the rooftop,

that i felt like it was never going to stop.

but of course it did,

and fall ushered in a new era of decadent days.

and i knew i'd never finish better than second place.

i'm a perennial silver medalist

i take some solace in the sauce and the sedatives

i'm ready to float, and i'm ready to drown;

this is what passes for a good time in a ghost town.

you've sold me on the fact you're untouchable,

but still, stupidly, i'll try my best to

reach what i know these arms are too short to grab;

i only want i can't have.

why don't you realize how similar we are

in this respect, and so many more?

the time i spend with you is like falling out a window

when i thought you were a door,

a pathway to something better.

a permanent state of not hating myself.

but still i'm coated in bronze or silver paints.

i suppose i'm lucky to have even placed.

you destroy me with all this platonic shit.

not to say i don't enjoy the comaraderie.

but i'm so tired of being your safety net

and then watching you completely forget.