At least I’m making interesting mistakes,
At least I don’t want to die anymore,
At least the sun is rising a little faster, now,
At least the werewolves don’t come off the moor.
I’m not quite ready to tell the full truth yet,
But half-truths almost taste the same,
A little bitter, a hint of alcohol,
A nameless flavor, tasted, almost named.
I know you’ve been really worried,
I know I’ve put you through a lot.
I know you’re glad I’m feeling better, now;
I know I’m not.