Exhale the same stale sigh of resignation.
Exhale defeat.
Another weekend.
Of course I'll see you there.
Another party, Another Friday.
You can talk to me like secondhand smoke.
Something ugly about desperation.
Something ugly about the weekend (the same thing).
I'm not sure being smart is such a blessing.
I'm not sure I'm saying the right things.
I'm not sure this is anything other than secondhand smoke.
Maybe all the books in the world won't help me look in your eyes,
and say whatever it is I'm supposed to say.
Exhale all this party conversation.
Michael kerney, I couldn't tell you know to do.
Sleep in, stay at home
(as though you could stay safe).
Party conversation.
Burn this to ashes.
Crushed.
Let it dissipate like secondhand smoke.
Exhale.
Party. Party.
Of course I'll see you there.
I'll have nothing to say.
Point a to point b.
Tell me the formula.
Exhale the sighs of resignation.
I can't look at you anymore.
Not with a bang.
But a whimper.
Dead lines from a book.
Anti-climax.
Sick of these four walls.
Sick of the dust covering it all.
Breathe in the night air,
breathe in the perfume,
and secondhand smoke.
Of course I'll see you there.
Anticipation into dissipation.
The anti-climax.
Slip away.
Michael Kerney,
I'm not sure what there is to study.
It can be about art
and the art of living.
Just take it away breathe it all in.
stand close enough to understand
and take it all in.
never a bang.
But a whimper
(but a whisper).
Exhale.
Party.
This party.
This party conversation.
Walk home alone.
Walk home alone.
The smell of it.
Wasting away.
Just walk away.
See another day.
Michael kerney,
get back to his book.
Smarts, I always think about the other meaning of it.
The mathematics of a simple conversation.
Point a to point b,
I end up getting lost.
The anticipation,
Dissipation...