Sad city

Sitting, rummaging through thought,
calling for words to come, and they take their time.
Or maybe they see my wishes all rot,
and most disappear, still I've got
some message with feeling in its chime.

It isn't so easy to make it known
when that's just what built the downward spiral.
Yet to keep inside this shit that I own
will make me believe that I'm all alone.
Let the cards drop, don't bother holding them all.

Though I'm coming back, they are still there:
the doubt, the regret, and still not you.
I should laugh just to take in air.
I'm so grateful to be given any care.
Still, I don't know what I'm walking to.

I can only guess at what you wanted,
how I should end up, and some guesses aren't pretty.
How the fuck would thoughts that only daunted
be a better companion on the road that haunted
this mind, this ghost town, this sad city?