I ended up writing
Thank goodness for words
Saving me from myself
Constantly
Over the past year and a half
These blank pages
Have given me someone to talk to
In this cold and lonely city
Not that my words ever mattered much
I can't win with this weather either
And every thought is a new line
I smell cinnamon
It's 7:30 in the morning
Why cinnamon?
Why 7:30 in the morning?
Why anything anymore?
And what is left here to adore?
In this city of sin
With its dirty, tainted stains
Seeping into every inch
Of my soul
I don't belong here
I probably never have or will
It's one thing to make it here
But another
To walk away from it
Because you hate it
And know
That no city in this world
Is worth losing yourself for
It's only a matter of time
Before I'll be ready to leave
And come back to you
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