heavy tides, heavy tides, heavy tides
each day eeks out the fingertips in a flux of mishaps, miswords, miscommunications. the gaze falls lower and lower to the ground; the annunciation, the pronunciation of the shape of the thing becomes misconstrued with mumbled, all too earnest sincerity that drains through the filter into the pipes of puked up small talk. any ability hereto within this little mind to express this inner cascade just...lacks, lackluster lacks, lacks, lacks. when the third rounds emerge the gloves should be thrown or the cave found. i envy, utterly envy the people who possess the ability to express the realities through the imaginaries while i wade through a mess of punctuation to somehow express some plain facts. for example: this week brimmed over with badness. i hated this week. i cannot wait for this week to be over. so, on sunday or monday i can wake up and maybe, just maybe, convince myself that i'm better than this.