I am at a literal and figurative crossroads

Half of me wants to be respectable

The other half wants to raze my paper kingdom to the ground

I start to hate my own voice, my words

Grudgingly fall into bed at night

Feeling like I left my wallet on the train

Or the oven on

Or a sentence unfinished

Or the only woman I’ve ever given a shit about

Yeah, that’s it

I always get there eventually

But she is haze and droplets

Nothing substantial

I don’t even remember what she tasted like anymore