Sipping upon earth grown fuel,
Attempting to regain some sense of being;
My being alive may not be a mistake,
But I’m damn skilled at making mistakes in my life.
If anyone asked,
I’d say I want to smash windows and really anything I feel is in my way;
But truth be told
I’d rather float down a river of my own tears.
Melodramatic, yes, but here’s a bit of reasoning-
When your emotions feel as though they exist light years away from your life experiences,
At least the appropriate emotions;
You eventually reach a point of confusion mixed with desperation,
Because it seems what you feel doesn’t actually matter.
I’ve reached a rather interesting point of exhaustion,
I’m basically so tired that I’m energized;
Exhausted so far past the point of fatigue,
That I can’t help but need activity.
Stimuli is key,
Rest is both foreign & futile.
Ground me coarsely until there’s little remnants,
Bathe my ashes in the water,
That I may be poured out as a roast stronger than I could ever see myself as.