|
So here goes, |
|
One last letter now. |
|
One last attempt to make sense. |
|
Who have I been writing to? |
|
I'm not sure anymore. |
|
What have |
|
I been trying to accomplish? |
|
It's a mystery, |
|
I guess. Self-made secrecy. |
|
Things get cloudy and now all these stories and |
|
The struggle as an undercurrent, both get blurry by the minute both get blurrier. |
|
So, which voice is this then that |
|
I've been writing in? |
|
Is it my own or his? |
|
Has there ever been a difference between them at all? |
|
I don't know |
|
I don't know. |
|
One last desperate plea. |
|
One last verse to sing. |
|
One last laugh track to accompany the comedy. |
|
Have I been losing it completely? |
|
Losing sanity? |
|
Or has it been fabricated, fashioned by the worst of me? |
|
I know I knocked the table over because |
|
I watched the jar break and |
|
I've been trying to repair it every single stupid day |
|
But won't the cracks still show no matter how well it's assembled can |
|
I ever just decide to let it die and let you go? |
|
All my motives and every single narrative below reflects that moment when it broke and will |
|
I never let it go |
|
No matter what? |
|
Now I am throwing all the shards away, discarding every fragment, and fumbling uncertain towards a |
|
Curtain call that no one wants to happen, that no ones going to clap for at all, but that still has to be. |