heavy thoughts on hillside
feeling the world slow down in my head
am i down or just a piece of trash?
who's to blame but myself?
staying between the yellow lines is only hard at night

[poem by matt amandola]
there are holes in my hands
i like to pretend they're not there
i like to put them in the back of my mind or simply imagine they don't exist
but that's hard to do when everything i try to hold onto slips right through them
and i can feel them ache
a dull pain that never fades
it never leaves my mind and slowly drives me insane
and sometimes it makes me think that this might be a mistake
and that maybe i shouldn't ignore these little gaping holes in my hands
but i'll keep on pretending anyway
and once again everything good just slips away
when something beautiful and elegant gently floats into my palms and embraces my grasp and greets me with a smile
and i smile at it back with some childlike naïveté
believing that this good thing will stay
that it won't reach these fissures
these holes that taunt me everyday
and for a moment i am weightless
and for a moment i can breathe
and for a moment i can say i am finally happy
i've got something i can hold onto
i've got something that i can finally call my own
i've got something i can finally care about
something that depends on me and i equally depend on it
trusting that i won't ever drop it
and that i'll keep it cozy in my palms forever
until eventually it slips away
and it passes through my riddled broken hands
and reality hits
and it's gone for good
because i can't control it from slipping through
everything i've ever cared about and ever will care about will slip through my fingers