the hell that is called admitting it...

My Mess:

She’ll be chirpy, she’ll be giddy

She’ll be taking it all lightly

And I’ll be blaming my expectations

Blaming her

For any lack of appreciation

I’ll be clingy, I’ll be needy

I’ll be going almost crazy

And she’ll be playing with attention

Every word

Stimulating her imagination

And I have to stay alert

Underperforming yet robust

And I must keep getting hurt

One wrong word and I go bust

She said go before you break

There are few things you can take

She said she will then denounce

Every doing out of bounce

Better hope I keep the progress

Slight like my pain,

Slight and wordless

Minor musings have taken a tumble

In a conundrum I cannot assemble

Better keep the impulses at bay

Bag some moments,

One for each day

If it all goes dark in her haze

I’ll pretend I was in a daze

Yet, she’ll be banging on my heart

Turning the sensation into an art

The art of losing, one step away

For the sake of keeping things at bay…

And I’ll be banging on my chest

Waiting for a sign,

A healthy breath

And I’ll be abandoning all rest

Until I can deal with her mess…

Until I can deal with my mess

My mess, my mess, my mess, my mess…