i'm better by myself, and i know it.
half caught between indecision and hope
you can find me nursing a stale glass of water
on a friend's couch.
gray, march, mid-morning
the day too has found
a safe space.
you'd think my niche was behind a podium
spreading some sort of fire
but i'm more akin with low-ceilinged rooms
and browned-out lights,
sharing wisdom between sips of something strangely
reminiscent of a rug burn.
i am perishable.
this is just the build up to my half-life.
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