The sad truth of the matter shows itself
It's there in every ignorant statement about not letting you win
Each lackluster encouragement echoes with the hollow sounds
Of hollow headed people who must not care to remember
They don't recall the broken boy I was six years ago
The boy who worked over four hundred days until a hospitalization gave me a night off
The boy who purchased a garden hose and some tape the same month I met you
The broken boy who, at an invitation, met someone that night instead of filling my lungs and my chevy metro with carbon monoxide
An exhausted boy yearning to be filled with exhaust