Relatively speaking I'm happy.
And relatively speaking, I'm okay.

"Relatively speaking" is a bullshit term.

Why is it I only feel close to God on overcast autumn days? And even then, it's only for a moment. And it feels like what I suppose we all pretend home should be, before we grew up and messed up and hated what we became.

(Between you and me, I don't think we ever knew what home felt like-it's just some made up thing for nostalgia's sake.)

Today I am a sailor
searching for a swallow,
to assure my tired heart
I'm navigating home.

Right now, there's really just nothing to say.

The ending of summer
caused the sun to cast shadows early,
and the orange glow was just begining
as we were leaving.

It's suiting, don't you think? Everything is very suiting.

Does God play sad music to fit appropriately with our current situations?
Does He sit with pen in hand and lights dimmed while writing our epitaphs?

I wish what I had given you was something tangible and not these pieces of myself that cannot be returned. And I'm not blaming you. I just feel so exposed and raw. I fucked up so immensely; I should not have let you glimpse so much of me. I feel like I'm missing a small part of myself that's imperative to my function.

Can I be anything I want to be?
What about free?
What about not insanity.
What if I throw all my pills down the sink?

Can I be steel on the bottom of the sea?
Waiting for rust and corrosion to eat me.
Finally feeling honest, because I really am that heavy.
Finally feeling something besides calamity.

Can I say what I actually mean?
I’m folding in, like your fold up chair.
I’m disposable. Just like you.
I feel like falling.
Please push me.