Sometimes the good days are really good,
And I am the bad one.
I have this magic trick,
I can pull gloom out of a hat,
Give you a deck of cards and help you pick sadness.
I do not wear happiness well,
It fits me like a tight pair of jeans,
Two summers too small.
Melancholy, an oversized sweater I drown in,
Cocooned in the comfort.
Alice swam to the shore to escape her pain,
I choose to swim in it.
Wallowing is such a dreadful thing.
But even on the good days,
The really, really good days,
The best I can do is tread water.
– C
clarevoyantcurves 