There were small holes all over my dress
Marking the places where my burning ash landed
Flying off of my lit cigarette
To the same beat as the wind coming through the window
There was a bit of mellow-drama
Leading up to that car
I over acted the entire night
It seemed better than the truth
No one wanted to know
That I had an hour long conversation with myself that morning
Trying to convince myself to get out of bed
Telling myself that life would go on
The goal is not to fall below 50
Not sure that anyone would find me
In a state like that
The goal is to keep getting out of bed
No matter how little sleep
How much sleep
Or how often it seems that life has stopped
And only the bed
Being honest
Acting out the solitude in my own head
Will bring justice to the time
And the truth
The car ride was shorter than it should have been
And I haven't worn that dress since
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