Disappointed Optimist

I'll lick my hand and I'll run it through the shifting sand,
Collecitng memories of broken glass,
And my wrists are growing roots to my empty notebooks,
And they are cluttered with unwritten words.

As of late I feel abandoned by your crooked smile,
But I will not inter-ject that was never my style,
I'll tie a scare around my chest,
To blind my heart from what I've missed,
I'll clear my throat as I digress and I'll breakdown.

You are the reason there exists this disappointed optimist,
Little emotion-less sound exhausted waiting for this,
Waiting for this to begin.

When you reach up push me back behind what's on your plate,
I read your policy of fate and your memory stains,
And the pain is drippipng off and drying up,
And chipping off the picture of me gripping you.