it plagues every corner of my life, hangs on me like soaking wet clothes, every morning and every night. i’m a dead flower pressed between the pages of an ancient book. my eyes can’t focus. i can’t stand, i can’t move, i’m trapped at the bottom of the ocean. i feel it beneath my skin like a disease and i don’t look before i cross the street, i don’t take caution, i swallow the chemicals, i drink in the poison like a cure. i’m gripping the hands of a clock madly pushing and pulling, i’m impatient, i’m sick. i’m deaf, blind, mute, and numb. it’s been too long. somewhere along the line every tender word became infested with guilt, i love you. i love you. it’s too late for me. i’ve wasted everybody’s time, i’ve done everything wrong, i’m shooting blanks. i think i was poised for some imaginary greatness, i had every opportunity, i was good enough. i ruined my own life in a simple chain of selfish vices.