I'm not fucking blind to the way. That you talk around the truth. Not just what you say. But what you do. Played this tug of war way too fucking long.
On clearer days I can see the lights from my bedroom door. On windy nights I can smell the lake as it drifts to me from the shore. The traffic lights silently change a thousand times a day.
If I could paint how I feel. I'd draw bullseye on your forehead. My anger is not misdirected. Unless it somehow misses you. . Time spent on hate. Is time gone to waste.
And all these things that we tie together. Keep unraveling apart. And the light that used to burn so bright. Now is dark. With anger-laced intent we set fire.