one blank stare

The longer I sit at home with nothing to do, the more I regret things. I sit here and think of everything and regret a lot. And I know there's no use in regrets because what's done is done and I can't go back in time and change things. But I wonder when this old skin is going to peel away so a new one can grow in. I need a breath of fresh air to think everything through. Maybe I'll drive over to the park and stare at the water for a few hours until I make sense. Until everything makes sense. I just blame it on skin. It's too sensitive, it turns red and it doesn't break fast enough. Let's just blame it on the largest organ on my body because I need to blame something, right? Skin is my scapegoat as to why I sit here in a dimming room listening to Dave Matthews, right? It's all skin's fault.