maladjusted

even after the small wars, it takes a while to realize your options have run out. i'm supplying all the information they require but can't help but feel it's a giant waste. like trying to straighten the crook in my spine, it's simply constructed to fail. a looming insignificance that makes sagan's sentiment easier to swallow. sleeping with drugs under my pillow is a worry of the past, there's no stability in savage habits. somewhere, someone will dream of throwing private knife parties for your small lapse in judgment. chalk this up to new found neuroticism. it's hard to be grateful for the things you have when your ideals become less tangible, when bad days have burned out but don't fade by the next morning. i've found a new outlet to avoid further fucking up. the ache in a loved one's eyes is enough to keep these feet pounding the pavement in a different kind of world than the one i was comforted in. i lift the sheets to watch my body wither. this is no way to live. considering a smoke break but there's no one around to talk to. these fingers should be crossed for a call to lift the weight but for now, i'll put them towards our sanity.