Not So Far from Leaving the Same Ol' Lament, Thanks Tracy

[One of the more depressing pieces I've written in years... beware of the dark morbid factor.] 10:35pm

Sometimes I think and feel that maybe I was made for a small town.
Sometimes among the laughter I feel a bit alien;
a bit of a crooked piece from some other puzzle.
I can imagine the tears, the heartsickness
if I were to pick up and... go.
But regardless, I know, that in the end, its always going to be OK.

And maybe I want to run away because of you;
maybe I know that I can't detach your memory unless
I detach from everything and start anew.
I want a blank slate I can recreate memories with different people,
different places,
different reasons why I laughed,
different reasons why I cried,
and different reasons to remember.

 Tracy seems to know the theme song that my heart and brain are dancing to.
She knows too much-- so much,
its embarrassing.
Stop saying the words I can't say;
Stop feeling the feelings I ignore.

Some people feel that alcohol helps them forget,
but I'm so stern and reserved that it actually helps me feel something
and express what sobriety never could-- and lies about.
 And it all starts pouring out like some overfilled pot
that desperately attempts to minimize the damage of a leaky roof.
Then all the words like polyamorous float on the water
as the knots in my throat get tighter and tighter,
and I lose the feel of breath in my throat.
"And is that what we go through this for?" Tracy said.
Just make it stop.

10:51pm