you're just another story i can't tell anymore.

i keep flirting with the idea of burning out again, tossing back the hours like they don't count up to 24 every time. and i don't want to write sense sometimes.

there must be more. if i drop too many bad habits, i become a clean void. but you and me both know that lasts as long as a man's morning shave. the attention span of a post-it in the breeze, me, and some times the cold heart the size of one, too.

but seriously folks, i'm hovering in the decide.