[ I was born to change, ]

I was born to change,
I was born to waver and give way.
I was not born with the ground under my feet.

I am subject to my own definition,
a foolish flame comparable to pre-teen crisis
and a summer-long obsessive sickness.

Drink from me, take from me.

I admit so much and reveal so little
'cause, darling, it's comfortable.
There's no commitment to my thoughts,
I can go as I please and be on my way again,
a stranger to my own passing.

I put faces to names, check my messages,
say I'll call if I need to
'just-talk-things-out-and-give-myself-a-break'
though I know that giving others that openness
is like eating an apple and still being hungry.

But I have no desire for these recycled feelings,
they're looking a little dull and ravaged, too much like myself.

Drink from me, take from me.

I'm done asking to be loved as I am,
I admit I'm a train wreck, I aim to please
and then sabotage, apologise, then repeat.
I'm a disaster, a natural one, the worst of all kinds
for involving another in my charades.

Why is it today always feels like yesterday
and tomorrow bears no fruit?

I was born to be a burning display
and it's always the curious, the thirsty few
who take to me like breathing and I hate it.

Drink from me, take from me
but don't stay, because I won't be long here.
I just need to pick up my things.

And before you know it, I'll be a lingering
and itchy annoyance in your lungs,
like the second-hand smoke you inhaled
from that inconsiderate asshole on the train.