The day of independence
I've managed to drop out of another program. My life is at an all time low and my morale doesn't seem to be looking up anytime soon. Do you know what it feels like when your knee caps have been busted and the safe zone is within arms length. To know that if you had that one extra push or if you gave a fuck that one evening when you just didnt feel like it. To have the body broken, bloody and bruised when you hand on the finish line.
My head feels as if my cerebellum is being pulled from opposing ends, but no matter the force at both there seems to be no signs of them separating but just for the sake of the turmoil created by this ungodly migraine. I've become the cheap trick that is looked at as the player for not dropping my jaw the moment those poisonous fumes engulfed my priorities and washing away any sense of responsibility that had fled away into the abysses of my fickle soul. If only this teething would stop. The licking of the lips. The thirst and cottonmouth. The raccoon eyes and the oily pours that just dissolve your face along with any confidence you're left with when you've nutted and the lights are back on with you forced outta hiding and no longer incognito. It's never really half as bad as you look at yourself, but you never know where the grace period ends so its best to be over critical and critique yourself too a tee because you can't go around without three days of sleep or food and honestly think you somehow can just pull off such an unnatural way of torturing your body.
You thank the first generations of tweekers that so willingly put their bodies through these detrimental trials with no hint as to the condition of their bodies once their party was crashed. You brace yourself and hydrate as much as possible. You brush frequently and floss when you remember. All in hopes of slowing down the wearing out and degradation of your body when your selfish habits are just picking up the pace. Trust me at this point you really don't fucking care.
I'm beginning to see the sun rise beyond the horizon. At least I hope it's the sun that will light my world when our sleep should be done. But as I rub my eyes, not from just waking because I never settled for sleep, at least not for this night. But I rub my eyes in hopes that the light I see beyond the horizon is my overly active imagination playing some joke with me, the obviousness of my unhappiness has become a sort of figurehead I've aquired and a characteristic of mine that even my own mind does what it can to keep my brain active and alert before I become so unresponsive that it's nothing but a slump of shit in my head. But I would've found more humor in believing that I'd ever see the light of day again. As if that all hadn't already been said and done before. What a joke. Of course what lies before me isn't our 24 hour cycle. This is the kink in the house, this your flat tire, the bullet the odds told you there was no need to worry in your game of russian roulette. Get over it, you're done.
My head feels as if my cerebellum is being pulled from opposing ends, but no matter the force at both there seems to be no signs of them separating but just for the sake of the turmoil created by this ungodly migraine. I've become the cheap trick that is looked at as the player for not dropping my jaw the moment those poisonous fumes engulfed my priorities and washing away any sense of responsibility that had fled away into the abysses of my fickle soul. If only this teething would stop. The licking of the lips. The thirst and cottonmouth. The raccoon eyes and the oily pours that just dissolve your face along with any confidence you're left with when you've nutted and the lights are back on with you forced outta hiding and no longer incognito. It's never really half as bad as you look at yourself, but you never know where the grace period ends so its best to be over critical and critique yourself too a tee because you can't go around without three days of sleep or food and honestly think you somehow can just pull off such an unnatural way of torturing your body.
You thank the first generations of tweekers that so willingly put their bodies through these detrimental trials with no hint as to the condition of their bodies once their party was crashed. You brace yourself and hydrate as much as possible. You brush frequently and floss when you remember. All in hopes of slowing down the wearing out and degradation of your body when your selfish habits are just picking up the pace. Trust me at this point you really don't fucking care.
I'm beginning to see the sun rise beyond the horizon. At least I hope it's the sun that will light my world when our sleep should be done. But as I rub my eyes, not from just waking because I never settled for sleep, at least not for this night. But I rub my eyes in hopes that the light I see beyond the horizon is my overly active imagination playing some joke with me, the obviousness of my unhappiness has become a sort of figurehead I've aquired and a characteristic of mine that even my own mind does what it can to keep my brain active and alert before I become so unresponsive that it's nothing but a slump of shit in my head. But I would've found more humor in believing that I'd ever see the light of day again. As if that all hadn't already been said and done before. What a joke. Of course what lies before me isn't our 24 hour cycle. This is the kink in the house, this your flat tire, the bullet the odds told you there was no need to worry in your game of russian roulette. Get over it, you're done.