the chemical imbalance rages on
all is hopeless in this home
there is no pine tree smell floating through the air.
no starry skies that range as far as the eye can see.
the sky is clouded with the worries of the world
no routine science could heal the sickness we rehearse.
we're all broken. we're all searching.
heavy hearts and making bargains with God
that seem to be going unheard.
the tears fall and the voices rise
and this month only will be so lonely.
there is no crisp air ripe with chimney smoke flowing from rooftops,
its been replaced with hot steam from the dirty, worn pavement
and the feeling of regret for another year that has flown by.
two weeks and the skeletons of good cheer and symbols of hope will
line the streets. they're dead and gone and soon to be forgotten
as most things are.
back to square one and a year that will be filled with failed dreams.
failed romances.
failed relationships.
lowered expectations.
things we all swore we would resolve and change.
things that all withstand the tests of time.
it's an ongoing, expected cycle that has a sick sense of home to it.
on christmas morning, outside was pouring
all was hopeless in this home.
