It's my favorite kind of low.
I won't feel a single blow.
I'm far too gone to notice pain,
or behavior that seems insane.
It starts out when I'm feeling sad,
Be sparing when you add the mad.
It needs to be something routine,
so I'll recognize the regime.
One too many friendly fights.
A mother who shrieks out her rights.
As a human I'm headed south,
as spittle's flying from her mouth.
It needs to be something I know,
for me to reach that special low.
Indifference. My heart pace slows.
I know how this episode goes.
A snarl, a glare, an accusation,
but now I'm frozen at my station,
and I don't frown and tears don't fall;
That's my favorite place of all.
When I don't care what happens next,
although, by this point, I expect,
I know the faulty trap unfolds,
and I step back, story untold.