The wit just drips off your words
But I'm not really there
My palms are wet and cusped and filled with the liquid formation of what I'm given
Advice I grip onto and try to let absorb into me
Try to taste it, to feel it, to see it
Trying to know if it applies
Something that lets me know that there is direction to this life
Signs and signals I've been purposefully missing for so long
Avoiding all the warning signs that leave me exhausted beyond amount
Maybe they're speaking to me
Desperation is all my body language has became at times like these
Desperate for the period at the end in the midst of all the question marks I don't have enough words or connecting brain signals to give adequate responses to
Long run and ever going
An object in motion will stay in motion until stopped
But all my tactics to work around things have succeeded until all the sudden everything meets in a forced crash
It always meets somewhere and when it does I'm left in the rubble and aftermath
Trying to sort through all of the connecting parts left unconnected that I could have kept together if only I had
But I never do
It all crumbles and compacts until more things are adding up that I keep apart until they eventually meet
And they're all sharp
Biting and unavoidable
But I don't stop
Focusing all of my attention on sawing one down instead of stopping the making of others but because instant gratification has always been my favorite forte
I've only ever succeeded in getting nowhere but lost