if somebody tells you, hey, stop drop and roll,

say, it might save my skin, but it won't save my soul.


I don't know what you're talking about,
maybe me.
Maybe...
not me.
Who knows?
I'm too tired to try and figure you out this time.
I'm still waiting for those words,
and it seems like I'll have to wait for tomorrow to finally see them.
Who knows when I'll get to hear them again?
Maybe it'll fill me up
and I won't be so insecure,
with all these paperweights stuck to my shoes.

It only takes those two things,
either one,
or both,
to make me okay.
Anything else is just temporary,
and a compliment,
not an explanation.
I'm happy, don't get me wrong,
but if I search for soup,
I only get one answer,
the one answer I want to hear right before I go to sleep
to make everything else go away.
You're talking to some invisible entity,
someone I know,
someone I know is there,
but I don't know who it is.
No matter how many times I yell out into the night,
who are you?
I'm not getting an answer.
The ocean is too far away to respond to a nondescript teenager's petty questions.