i've spent my life avoiding life
through analysis, through sleep.

i've hidden myself from myself
no wonder i feel like someone else.

there is something very alluring
about losing your mind and yet
there is nothing poetic about being sad.

despair is ugly but
you
can utilize it.

so i'll paint my nails to fit my mood
somewhere between blood and blue

the color is the difference
between me and you.

spiral inward.
reality screams
patterns
at me and
exists only as
compulsions
in me

stare at the ceiling.
disappoint them.
do nothing.
be proud.

i want to
shed the discomfort
of optimism
and **** **** up.