I can't tell the difference between
my life spiralling out of control and
falling into place.
So I spend my days making up
for the past one,
Trying to hold onto myself whilst
having no idea who I am
and reading poetry at 4am
trying to imitate it's words and
calling it art.

But I am hungry, thirsting
for more,
mediocracy does not
satisfy me yet
I was not made for great things.
So I fade away, run, become
intangible
so you cannot reach me because
I was not meant
for your world.