"Spotty At Best"

April 26th, 2013; tumblr

There are two songs left. Two more songs and I can call this a night. I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t suppose you all come here for the guarantee of direction.

It’s late. Not as late as if could be. Not as late as I’ve experienced before, but things are different now. I’m different now. I’m grasping for straws. Looking for a life preserver. Trying to stay aloft. Insert yet another metaphor for “off balance.” There it is, the song I’d been waiting for. Something like, “what is life anymore?!” Maybe I need a new niche.

The cuts and nicks pretty much suck. The stiff muscles, the bruises on top of bruises. Why am I even bothering to talk about it? I’m reminded of a day when it was just psychological pain that stirred my slumber. Yeah, I should probably get some sleep.

If anyone out there could just direct me to the door I’ll be on my way. Oh, what? There’s no door? Window perhaps? None of those either? Well then I must say the host has a terrible interior decorator. If you can’t tell by now, something’s off. Not me, no sir, it’s the other guy. The guy behind the keys. Piano was never my forte but neither was any other instrument. What’s one step shy of a prodigy again?

I hear it all now. Every voice. They’re pretty in sync. Turns out there’s further south to travel. Good thing I packed light. They tell me the summers’re hell. No one’ll probably get that one. I probably won’t even get it in a month or two. I always seem to undersell.

This’ll do, for now.