thoughts that run on empty,
they're drunken, held together
by the fact that it's morning.
find the feeling that
you're a prettyhollowperson
& it shouldn't concern you
to concern me.

& you don't even try to know about me,
it's you, it's you, it's always you
& i can't believe...
& i think that...
& i've had enough for now

because you don't seem to see
the struggle, the hidden dance
in the darkened room & you,
ungrateful as anything
have taken me right through.

it is saturday. words
don't mean much today.