Fifty-Six

i've been trying to write a novel when i can barely write a note
i've been bitching about the heat since i took off my winter coat
i've been trying to get back to where i was before i cracked
into these all too familiar pieces
i wore a path in the yard from the front door to my car
wore a path in the road from where we've been to where we are
and these bright city lights are just looking for a fight
tonight they just might get what they're asking for
as they ask once more
"where did we go wrong with you?
what more could we do
when you should know that it's true that it could be worse"
and that's what hurts
for example,
my cousin broke his face and had to get stitches in his head
i went to pick him up from the emergency room and he was lying there in the bed
and it was just like a scene from a movie when he said,
"how do i look?" and i said "marvelous."
his mother worries about him all of the time
but he'll never give in because he isn't that kind
and by "kind" i mean "good to his mother who could have
but hasn't given up on him yet"
but i'll bet she's said
"where did we go wrong with you?
what more could i do?"
but you can't help somebody who won't help themselves
let alone somebody else
so help yourself, help me pick myself apart
keep what you want and leave the rest for my art
as i make up for time i spent walking the line
i always knew would never keep them separate
but let's be honest, we're just trying to decide
whether to begin to live or to begin to die
and from one day to the next, depending on the context
it's probably best to know there isn't a difference
but my preference
is to just be here tonight
saying "everything's all right"
over and over until i start to see that it's true
sometimes that's all you really need to do.