Where does one draw the line
Between tolerable and nauseating?
Where does one go to unwind
When what's winding you up is all you know and love?
How do we ever know
Anything of art or science?
How do we ever know
Anything at all?
Every single word I speak
makes me feel less complete.
Every single thought I think
makes me wish that I could go to sleep.
I'm running circles around this mess.
What a vapid display of smugness and control.
Running circles and I'm not even tired yet.
I'm such a vapid display of smugness and control.
A flat brain, lost, stranded.
As if in need of rescue.
A dark mind,
A place away from everything.
No, it's not a dis-contentedness causing this slip-strike,
Our answer to a fault line.
Don't even try to help me.
I'll get through it on my own time.
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