you will never be happy.
you will never find love.
you're choosing a piece of paper over everything.
and they're three declarations i've been fighting for the past three weeks.
they're each their own falsehood with shadows that look like truth and talk like truth.
and it feels like there's a hole in my heart where some of my choices have burrowed.
and the breeze comes through my window, and the coolness of it is more comforting than the burns of these words.
and tears justify procrastination.
but i swear i'm still trying to write against evolution,
and for woody allen,
and why kids have sex.
and once those papers are done, i'll be in a brief clear.
and i'll toss aside these three phrases for now,
and make some new decisions.
and i'll live by three new phrases,
and forget the certainty in your voice when you spat them.
because, really, i'm still determined to do this all right.