And Again

In a bleak sort of way,
I wonder if it's better to stay.
To resign myself to atone
As a busy, worker drone.
To let the grey be just me,
And let the static be just, free.

Part of me, still, lusts for breeze
For gloomy days and the lush trees.
To feel a fire of deepened desire
Wisdom and peace of what transpires.
Bursts of joy, glitter, and buzz
Life as it could be, as it does.

Yet, here we are at the fork, again, again
Me and my friends in my head, till the end.
We'll disagree and we'll fight
Until we're soaked in pale moonlight.
Because, in the end, it'd be easier, see?
If I just wasn't here, or if I wasn't me.