Nobody understands how things effect me,
how the tiniest notion can flatten my mood, my mind.

Turning and winding like a cemented road, i lay so quiet, until maybe my thoughts will still-

stick-

harden.

Until maybe my heart will soften and pump and beat so hard there's no choice

but to realize- i'm alive, you're alive.

yet we're so fucking sick we can't even raise our heads.

i'll sleep so long, two hours esculates to five, to six, to twelve, until finally i wake up: eighteen.

I try to prevail, but i am cumfunded.

it's gotten to the point to where

i don't even know

what i'm striving for.

the war is won. the damage done.

still, stuck, and hardened.