I’m avoiding today,
Not wanting to admit the fear I feel
In the consequences of what I write.
It is no fun being tired on the same old shit,
Beat down and seeing no way through it.
I make my pleas and, if his grace is sufficient,
I don’t see it.
I understand my seeing or not
Makes little difference in the scheme of things
And I know I’m not alone as David wondered
If his tears would melt his couch
And it’s probably good I’m using tears as a metaphor
As otherwise we would have drowned by now,
But I would appreciate some sort of response
Just to let me know I not
Yelling into the wind.
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