confessions are of too much worth
to become true, real, alive, different
and i, here, have become immobile
like
i can't breathe and my mind can give
nothing but varied shades of you.
i realize i haven't stopped
haven't become
haven't been
haven't seen anything but
the same damn things
over and over.
brutally used to being messed up
shrugging off the seemingly
normal but truly volatile.
feeling as though life is
not as nice as i ever believed it could be.
malcontent, discontent, i don't sleep
i won't sleep
and tonight won't be easy
to endure.
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