i possess a set of useless skills
a manifestation of several ills
a motley collection of habits, mostly bad
no strings and alas no thrills
but when i feel you slip
and slowly drift away
i got nothing
and when i run into the wall you're building
a wall of stone faced fuck you detachment
i got nothing
i got the reflexes of a butter knife
dulled by too much toast
i get glimpses of another life
and know not what matters most
i can lie like a broadsheet
alarm nestled amongst moderately priced conveniences and distractions
a straight faced overpaid anchor
another just making it up type wanker
but when i taste you slamming the door
i'm taken to the night before
and in this instance of less is more
i got nothing
i turn off as you turn away
this is the game and the price we pay
our mutual silence cloaking the coldest of shoulders
i got nothing
i got twenty twenty narrow vision
real thick skin that absorbs derision
an outrage gland that's set to mute
promise of a show and a job to boot
yet my delusions are mediocre
my scattered thoughts are many
because only with you can i see the true nature of my dreams
only you know how to calm my storms, my screams
i got nothing
i got vital parts i need so much
i need the feel i want the touch
without you
i got nothing
without you
i am nothing
About the Creator
Bren
“I know what I mean it to be and respect that someone else may read something entirely different.” Me
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