for bad coffee this is pretty good.

i'm settled in an undertow, the flow keeping me drifting. i'll dig my heels into the rocks, sediment, fish eggs, but nothing catches. it's your hands, large and cold, that i can feel grasping at my shins; your nails digging deep into my skin. i rip myself away. your scratchy voice, your overpowering desires, i need you.

i'm tired of daily life. i'm tired of exhaustion. i'm tired of being tired of being tired.

the idea of just trying to make it through the day has transformed into week.
"don't sleep, don't sleep."

i can see it, you know.
i feel as if we're all made of tin.
nothing matters anymore. i'm running around and around.
you don't care, i don't care, they don't care.
sometimes i feel as if i'm the one in orbit, sometimes i wish i was the one in orbit.