we've all written what we can
hands tied and intuition bound by
people and things and always more things

giving all i can
just to be dealt even less than
i came with
leaving with less life than i arrived

weight pushing more than your elbows on your desk
more than the palms on your brows
the teeth grinding, closed shut eyed, a 'fine' suffices while still petrified

we wait and wait and wait for change
like a poor man on the street
begging to be set free
but the week ends and the day begins and we start again and again and again and we wait
and we stay still
stay stagnant
fight the urge to projectile *****
but we stay still in silence.

good habits can't be broken
just rewritten.