Strange Optimism

Is it wrong to be wary
Of my own intentions that sleep?
Wrapped in a blanket of warmth
Despite the bitter cold that nips at my feet

Trying to find a way to creep on up
And fuck me over in a frosty rage

I have no apparent reason for this joy
That's why I'm questioning the reason why
It's like I'm sitting on edge yet again
Waiting for the vitality to, once more, die

I wonder if I'm too used to the masochistic lapse
The one I assume to deal with life's woe
But yet I'm drunk off this good feeling
 Without so much as a sip of vodka on the go

Maybe I'm subconsciously counting my blessings
Since I'm for once not regretting I was born
My love, my friends, my kitties, my writing, my music
I have what some don't have... So why should I mourn?

This feels so funny
But I think I like it