And I can feel myself slipping back into old.

And I can't do a damn thing about it.

I cried on the floor while Joe mumbled drunk ramblings about how I go about things wrong.

I cried as I woke up, thinking about the emptiness that somehow consumes me.

I cry now, as I think about how many times I said I was going to be okay.

Everyone has advice that they think will bring the miracle cure,

But the truth is, this is me.

This is who I am.

This is who I will always be.

The leaves have fallen from the trees,

And the sky is perpetually gray.

I lean against the wind,

Hugging my coat to me,

And I try to convince myself this isn't some sick metaphor for life... and the subtle eventuality of death.

I once had myself convinced.

But not anymore.

The gray sky and piercing wind are here to stay.