I think we're all of like mind when we say this procedure is experimental
But between you and I, let's be honest, talk-therapy is detrimental.
Don't tell on me and you have my word: I won't squeal on you.
Cause the opportunities to collaborate are becoming painfully few.

I'm not here to impress anyone, that's just a side benefit
Of this thing of ours.  Admittedly I've had enough of it.
It's starting to lose most of it's luster.
And little effort there is left to muster.

Writing's clouded over by trying to not sound so dumb
But through the process I've become intoxicated and numb
Before it gets any farther and runs the risk of becoming gum
In the works, the losses must be cut when all is said and done.

Deciphering meaning from this will serve no utility
My writings are just an exercise in futility
Something to kill the time of the past
When it just keeps slipping by ever so fast.

Because after being for so long on the wire
Is it any wonder why I'm starting to tire?