They sound bong, bong, bong.
this week i had a pathetic old womans cough and a sickly face.
progress is slow moving, and often halting.
i am tired.
i feel pathetic, irksome, and childlike.
it's like i keep trying to reach something, but it's out of my sight.
i am going to stay optimistic until i can't be.
i am happy, though,
just scared. this weekend will be nice.
although i still can't help but think
why on earth would someone want to share this with me ?
My hands are high
And I'm holding out, but holding up
And I figure that I, figure that I just might make it
And I'm waking empty, but seldom sleeping
And the words repeat,a ,breathing histories into stories untold
And I--- unfold.