Echoes From Escher

I got good and sick from all of this,
which I suppose is natural,
what with all this unhappy happiness,

I got good and tired from all of this,
tired of myself,
tired of making echoes in my head,

I got nothing at the end of the day,
taken for a fool,
as had been the case so many Moons ago,
as is still the case this eve,

I knew I did not miss you,
not the way I used to,
not the way I did when it made my insides hurt,

I did not,
I missed my insides,
and their quiet victories,
and their conquering of sorrow,

I missed it all,
in fact,

maybe one day I would get to putting that pen to paper,

maybe,

and work my way up here,
from the ground up,
and down again