Horribly Lonesome

It’s true, I used to feel it pure to play the broken 

Such a slave to the artist in me 

Bleeding from the heart made me seem open

in some self-righteous display of defeat

But I see it now,
the way it fell out as self-deprecating; my subconscious release 

When I wrote it down, the way it felt drowning and gasping for air being...

Horribly lonesome 

And tired of falling apart at the seams 

Everyone knows some sweet, subtle way of conjuring up their relief 

I’m trying to hold some resemblance to a man unafraid of defeat 

But horribly lonesome is what I’ve become
by always pretending to be

Now I’ve grown
There’s gotta be a way to fake the progress

toward who I was sure I would be  

There’s a noticeable change in age and context,

But failure is still constant in me

I don’t know if there’s a known way to find the value of a man

Who’s never whole, but somehow feels alright?