at the end of the day.

plagued by the thought that i could never measure up, hearing all his old puns and crossing his ocean of heroes. i know i could never do him justice.

my words are half-baked, and any ideas i have fuck me over without so much as a note in the morning.

i never wanted it to be this way. i never conceived that perhaps one day i'd give it all to have one more minute. one more time to hear him say, "hey, baby." i never thought i'd be trying to cling to life with a heart half dead.

but now, all the colors run together into a grayish-brown down each person's face. the sky is half-lit, and all of the water is lukewarm. the music is turned down, and my room is quiet. my spirit is laying on the floor, gasping for breath that's not for it to have.

my days have been without climax or connection. my hours go by without inspiration or influence, roaming and tired. and i start finding that i have nothing else to talk about but how much.