this is easy for me to say

i was reading in a car
catching words by each streetlight
the words were spaced too far apart
i nearly quit when i had a thought
what order of letters got me here
my primal form is no Shakespeare
and i know you think this is nothing new
to think about life as more than something to do
but if it’s just words then i feel free to say
that i don’t really care about my birthday
so if i could act on any thought
would my faith be less distraught
i gave it a chance and i found the end
there’s no life in lifeless ends

if this car stopped i could read my book
and catch the words at one time
by now the metaphor is getting old
life is change and that’s not so bold
i feel the culmination of grief in my young life
and a raging ache behind each blue eye
an anonymous person says, ‘are you okay?’
i said i’m fine and that was true
but i wish there was more that i could do
so why don’t i do it you could say
but first i should eat before i rot away

God is good and that’s all great
but i miss his voice if that’s okay

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