Fault of Mine

I need meaning.
It's a fault of mine.
I don't know how you do it.
Just to say you did.
Just to say you could.
Just to say you can.

And I need more.
It's a fault of mine. 
There's better a better use of space.
A better use of flesh.
A better use of bone.
A better use of breath.

But I need sleep
It's a fault of mine.
I don't know how you stand.
On legs so stiff.
On legs so broken.
On legs so bent.

'Cause my soul is sore.
It's a fault of mine.
There's an ache that builds.
That freely breeds.
That freely wrecks
That freely weeps.

It's a fault of mine.
It's a fault line.
It's a faulty life.

I Should Go to Bed

I feel like I am missing something.
I have this aching nostalgia that is eating away at my core.
Growing up was painful, but at least, I felt grounded.
I have no desire to go forward, only to go back and relive.
I want a redo.
I want to live. 
I want to have those experiences unique to the teenage years.
But I was too busy being depressed.
Striving for perfection.
Good grades.
An impressive resume.
Church.
Church.
Church.
I just don't see it getting better from here.
No more fun.
No more carefree days.
No more campfires or lake days or late night adventures.
No more school trips or sleepovers or dreaming about the                                    future.
The future is here, and it's bleak.
College has tainted my senses.
I grieve for all that I've lost since high school.
Friendships, innocence, love, hope, confidence, belief.
I grieve for the world that I live in.
I often think I should have been a teenager in the 90s.
The best decade in my opinion; a reflection of my attitude and                            apathy.
The music it brought sinks into my joints and moves me, head to toe.
The lyrics speak of a youth I wish I could recall, but I feel so old and wretched.
My memories leak out of my eyes, and I drown in them.
My regrets hold me
        under.
I was never one for jealousy, but I covet the young and dead.
I long for their closure.
One more guilt-stained day in this declining cess pool                               might kill me.
Because all I carry is should haves and too lates.
Walking into an abyss of restraint and decay.
Of rules and boundaries and bills and debt.
My spirit groans under the load, in anticipation of more and more.
The age of parental comfort and warmth is long gone; it's time to grow up.
No one can prove it will be ok anymore.
I am unsettled and nauseated. 
Time to figure it out alone.
Time to fail with no back-up.
Time to let go of consistency and promises.
Time to step into the quicksand and sink,
                                                              sink,
                                                                  s
                                                                   i
                                                                    n
                                                                     k.
You see the end, but you do it anyway.
If it's so quick, why does it take so long?
Sink, sink, sink.
E
 N
  D
   L
    E
     S
      S
       L
        Y
          .