Saturated in loneliness, I am dying...

But you give me an excuse
to find an outlet for my remoteness;
to find an emancipation for my seclusion.

I have an excuse to be an addict-
so I can overdose on the killers of pain

and point the fingers at you, right?
because you're my excuse.

I can pour spirits into my consciousness,
then claim you were the barless tender

who continued to fill my cups for me
to drink away my reasons to not mourn.

I can divide into multiple personalities
and have a soul civil war, then say you

were the foundation for the fights to begin,
after all, you're my excuse, right?

Be my reason to just nut-up,
flatten someone's tires,
make an appearance in a psychiatrist's chair

Be my justification to turn dysfunctional
and bizarre and send me on journeys to
discover myself when I already knew who I was,

You won't be my woman,
You won't be my soul mate,

You won't be the greatest thing
that could happen to my life,

So at least be something,
please be something,
be my excuse.

Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyright © 2000
F rom As I Look

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