Morning Poem From My Balcony

The moment passes, the magic escapes,
Made of affectations and meaningless japes,
I vibrate slowly
As the wind hits my face
This life isn't what I planned

I'm no good at romance,
I can't flirt for shit
I think that I'm a good man
But rarely show it,
And when I fall into bad faith.
When I lie in the aim of my ends.
What can I say really
In my own defence?

Hypocritically critical
Selfishly mean
I don't quite deserve all the love that I've seen
It shouldn't be shocking that I feel so alone
I don't have the balls to just pick up the phone
I sit on my porch (a city-man's throne)
And wait.

For what am I waiting
I can't really say
I take it the only way I can, day by day
I'll try to be better (or at least say as much)
I'll try to be genuine (Sarcasm's my crutch)