So That's What They Mean

please excuse the stench of desperation.
i'll apologize in advance
because i know that i'll blow my only chance.
can i speak with a bit of candor?
you're all i think about these days.
it's so pathetic, i know, but i don't know how to change.
this summer was so ridiculous;
so many drunk nights and the rooftop,
that i felt like it was never going to stop.
but of course it did,
and fall ushered in a new era of decadent days.
and i knew i'd never finish better than second place.

i'm a perennial silver medalist
i take some solace in the sauce and the sedatives
i'm ready to float, and i'm ready to drown;
this is what passes for a good time in a ghost town.

you've sold me on the fact you're untouchable,
but still, stupidly, i'll try my best to
reach what i know these arms are too short to grab;
i only want i can't have.
why don't you realize how similar we are
in this respect, and so many more?
the time i spend with you is like falling out a window
when i thought you were a door,
a pathway to something better.
a permanent state of not hating myself.
but still i'm coated in bronze or silver paints.
i suppose i'm lucky to have even placed.
you destroy me with all this platonic shit.
not to say i don't enjoy the comaraderie.
but i'm so tired of being your safety net
and then watching you completely forget.