whatever's left of my sanity
sifts through my limp and parted fingers
desperate for zero-gravity
willing dissipation to reverse
I can't hear over the static in my head
I can't shake the definition of death
dissociation became my only familiar
nothing else seems as consistent
than this cycle of numbness
and emotional vacancy
I'm sorry for the impatience
I'm sorry for the inpatients
I'm sorry for being so aimless
I'm sorry for the potential wasted
I wish time would just play backward