So the balloon of numbers,
so shiny on New Years Eve,
loses lustre on day two of the year.
What do you do?
Give up and just stare?
Or commit to the process that life’s not fair.
I really love you, I want to commit,
But life has me stressed
up to the armpits.
You love your stress, can’t live without,
you create it all ways.
In you I doubt.
If only they knew the short time they had left
they’d spend less on the lack,
nor let fear be their theft.