Wish those little scraps of life

Could mean something right now.

Inadequacy, and unwilling apathy

Swallow all else I feel, somehow.

I feel so dirty, unclean, unfinished, unkeen,

In discomfort, disharmony with myself, harming me like nothing else,

I guess it’s better than panic, despair, or my other weathers fared,

(Yet still there remains a fear of a far more frightening feeling,

That of which only the lone heart hath bared)

But if you were to look beyond my ever-so-present apparent lack of care,

Maybe you could see just how hard I’m fighting

Not against you, or the demons that surround us,

But against myself, because I want to be more than this.

am more than this. But I can’t see it anymore.

Where am I? This can’t be me.

This isn’t what I’m meant to be.

I can’t see.





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