the hours

if i had anything left to say, i'd say it, dammit

nothing but the hours the hours

stretching out before me in this cold empty house

the muted television, cold mint tea

and me drowning in unending ennui

god forbid dollars would fall

or a plane ticket out of here to france

or a dark chocolate bar, anything to fill

the unending nil of this existence

the clanging boredom, the hammering pain

hell yes i'm depressed, wouldn't you be

wouldn't anyone left to fend for herself

with a handful of meds and infinite illness

i try everyday to occupy some meaning

but find in the end i'm too stressed to care

so i fill my head with amadeus and then

check out the birds and the earthquakes

photoshop the forests, listen to the rain

wake up with my back nearly broken

on a busted up sofa, head exploding

there's no escape, i just have to face it

fill the hours as they come and go

a book, a movie, a lousy poem

noise in the kitchen, a cat full of needs

a bunch of anger that needs some peace