Second guess yourself

if you think I mean what I say.

But I’m not surprised if you do think

you don’t think for yourself.

You surf the wave you think we created

but I saw the wave coming from the shore.

What’s it matter now?

Bad men create lies to believe in.

I’m the greatest drunk storyteller

but to reconcile with you

I live in my own stories.

And though I haven’t thought of an ending yet,

this whole parade of holding hands feel like the last chapters.

This is a story that spiraled out the authors head

it got obnoxious and dragged on for far too long

but the time invested

feelings nested

want to see it through.

Truth be told for the final time

I want to live in my stories

but I want you to get out of mine.