it’s the blue in my coffee
the blue in my hand
the blue when i get up at midnight
when i’m afraid i can’t take a stand
against myself i stand
in the mirror when i cant recognize myself
or i know her too well
too well or not well enough and it’s too hard to tell
i ask her if things will change in a year or so
clearly not in a week when things should change, they do anything but, and my flowers die but don’t grow
and i walk my walk in the night and ask myself this:
when am i rid of this toxic chemical bliss?

when Mondays are as of Fridays and all days are just one day
i pace back and forth returning to the same spot with the same plot
with the same point on the same dot
merely, it is just me
against all odds i am alone
in this journey on my own
with a blue hand that can’t hold
my blue coffee cup now gone cold
and i shouldn’t act surprised when i behold
nothing has changed but the weather,
the year
and me being almost 20 years old

do tell me what horrors await me in the month of December
when all’s well that ends well but that’s never what i remember
the last month spent bursting into tears
about some idiot who decided that my words are no longer what he wants to hear
and that i’m no longer held in his heart so dear
and that it’s just the same old blue endings at the end of another year