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I find it impossible to believe that there is one individual out there for me
One singular soul that could ever match what beats inside of me
A gentle drum of anxiety that leads me to question any source of prosperity
Dying inside of me
Is the person who can love someone else
Beckons for water in this dry spell
Can you spill the secrets for what it takes
To eliminate this sour taste I get whenever I think of someone lying in my bed
I think of you lying in my bed
So explain to me
Why when I finally found someone that ticked with my time and skipped beats while I rhymed
Slipped through my fingers when I held so tightly to their belief
That they were a savior in this drought
Perhaps I was wrong
That’s true
But if my heart still aches with every moment I wake
Don’t tell me it was a waste
Waste is something dirty and used
Waste is something you throw and wish would disappear
You were not waste
I find it impossible to believe that someone could look at me and believe the same
That I was worth the DIY project of collecting the pieces and making something new
I doubt someone could repair what resulted from you
But perhaps that’s it
I need only wait for someone with the right tools and mind to gather up what hangs on from tattered threads
To create what once was into what will be
Naive
Perhaps that’s what I choose to be










