Clearing my mind.
Deep swells of dissatisfaction. I drown in it, luxuriate in it, drink it, breath it. It forms my days, and sits in the back of my mind. Everything is not enough. Myself especially. I am defeated. A dream or an idea left unrealized. I am lowered expectations and shattered dreams. Self Pity is my drug, I enjoy it and despise it. Its my friend. I ache for whats not, and never will be. Time is unimportant,though it passes, there is never enough of it. To much, and it doesn't matter. I will not outrun my memories, and I don't ever want them to go. ungrateful, maybe, but its still not enough. It might never be. I will never be satisfied and my disappointment is a bitter pill dissolving on my tongue.