..and i know what every basement in the world can feel like on a good night.

Hopeless or helpless, neither a romantic. You may tire of me, I perceive, as you tire of me it seems. We are powerful, despite our injuries, I believe in this an absolute truth and in turn, as if to prove it, I rise before the sun and leave the house early each morning to return late at night in order to provide for others with a greater dependency. Irony is affluent, I insist, in a life where I am unable to provide for myself -- some-days simply aren't mine at all, to have or to hold --- I cherish the hole that I am finding ever inherent in my life. A hole that is not the exception but the rule. The hole is not the void in my life, but instead I learn that the void exists around the hole...in my chest, in my head, in my bed --- a depression, a negative, a darkness -- that painfully says: not a God-damn thing is going to change.
..and you may tire of me, I perceive, only as you tire of me it seems. Hopeless and helpless, but never a romantic. I named you sunlight in the stories I constructed, before ambiance replaced the chorus of story telling in my head. As I find a way to fall from the sun, I abandon my graces tonight as I become aware that there's one last drink before the bottle breaks, returning us to the dust from whence we came. I do savour the taste.