8 Different Ways

Eight different ways of saying it
Eight different roles, rolling it and playing it,
A funny kind of life where we’re caught, and caught again
in the middle, up against a wall or face pressed against
a bizarre chain-linked fence
Pushed around, bothered, fighting the hazy way of
Handling things by not handling a fucking thing
Until we’re pushed to the brink of crazy

Eight different ways of playing it
No more sharing, and the caring card has been dealt
And I never knew anyone that knew exactly what I felt
Without me having to do anything, without me even saying it

First the Hurt sets in, holding hands with Confusion.
Frustration and Anxiety trot along behind them, skipping
Tripping along, past Resentment and Apathy,
Glancing sideways at me as
Fortitude and Resolve sit on the bench, just over there:
waiting for that moment when I don’t care anymore

about the other six; that moment when I know
they couldn’t fix anything.
Eight different ways to walk on eggshells,
to compare hells,
to hear the death knell of a chapter closing
to feel the resolve building and stacking
chest rising and falling, racking laughter and fears

Eight different ways of coping, and
moping isn’t one of those things
moving ahead
keeping my head down
turning that frown upside down

Eight different ways of saying it
Eight different roles, rolling it and playing it,
all those trip-ups and hitches should make for so many train wrecks
but it won’t.
I just can’t wait to see what happens next.

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