Confesstions of a bag lady

Erratic, cataclysmic thoughts invade my brain and my wardrobe.
Challenging all I have done or will ever do.
Where do I stand? What is my purpose?
“Who am I and why do I smell like this?”
The crazy lady is scared.
Paranoia creeps in and threatens vengeance on dentists everywhere.
Lovey dovey, lazy daisy…who cares? Maybe me.
But I don’t want to anymore.
I’m tired of wanting.
To have and to hold, to care and to mold.
And for what?
A day at the park, and afternoon at the beach, a hand to hold while you’re dying?
Love is fickle, love is weak,
It tears you down when you try to speak.
Or maybe that's just the one I’ve known,
The one that was supposed to be full grown.
So now I stand up, now I grow,
But why the hell am I moving so slow?
Time moves on, lives hang in the balance.
A teetering tightrope of emotions
That topple at the first sign of a drop.
Drop in prices, drop of liquor, drop of a hat
They’re all the same
Each marching to the beat of their drum,
Never realizing that they’re all playing the same song.