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I feel like everything is happening all once, as well as nothing at all. A bleaching of sorts, my identity being wiped away in the gray of things. Every road leads to an end, thoughts that will never see the light of day, this lack of purpose.
I'm too busy but swirling with nothing inside. I know this script too well. Regaining balance gets harder every time, I grieve all the gains that have come undone. I want to rest. I want to be set on fire. I don't know who is in this skin anymore. The words are itching out of my pores, just to say, with all humility, that I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to say. That I bring nothing to anyone. That I am clumsy and stuck. There is no despair, just a lack.
Always a lack.
I'm too busy but swirling with nothing inside. I know this script too well. Regaining balance gets harder every time, I grieve all the gains that have come undone. I want to rest. I want to be set on fire. I don't know who is in this skin anymore. The words are itching out of my pores, just to say, with all humility, that I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to say. That I bring nothing to anyone. That I am clumsy and stuck. There is no despair, just a lack.
Always a lack.