So..
I wander back into this old room, rubbing fingertips against nostalgic surfaces and sliding them against the coloured objects
Trying to pull out the representation within them
Trying to recreate the fantasies of a younger self
Tested by their potential hollow nature, by the cabin fever creeping through skin to nerve, by the idea that I can't quite find the balance
Between a healthy optimism, a self involved day dream of self, and a destructive need to deconstruct absolutely every aspect of my interaction with others, and avoid giving in to the claustrophobic boxes of old

I wonder when I do well, am I just satisfying a need at the expense of others?
Am I ignoring what matters, am I being lazy?
I wonder when I do badly, where in the massive intense web of social deconstruction, where does the truth lie amongst such burning over analysis?
Am I as invisible in my armour during the anxiety as I am so desperate to believe?

Then.. I go to other groups I'm sure about, coast through the conversation with a distance, wondering why the **** irrational obsession became so pure
But that's just the dull day to day, I'll keep up.

As the rains and winds beat hard against our windows and coats
As our brothers from our home back in Africa suffer from capitalism's imposition of ignorance on top of nature's cruel power at a molecular level
And maybe suffer a bit because of their own sin, but.. I'm not one to judge, my lineage tarnished with the ****** backs of other cultures
As this world of ours spreads and burns outward, I wonder if I'm going the right way.

I let doubt rush shakes from my hands, and let emotion fuel words that I have no other place to say, no ears that have any ******* right to hear them

I wonder if the universe breaks my toys and soaks my clothes for a reason, or if I'm just another self important ***** in a viral infection of self important ****** consuming their way to a dissatisfied 40th birthday, or to a drowning at 30 once the climate scientists are proven right

Or if those quotes and photos with dubious association are true in their assertion that no one lives forever, so make something that does?

I give in to self indulgence, grow tired from my work, and tell everybody about the projects I'm too lazy, too distracted, too busy consuming to produce.
Maybe I've got time.. maybe I'm too ******* myself
Maybe I need to get my ******* act together, because I could be murdered tomorrow.

Every now and then though.. I go through the motions again
Look behind me, look into me, and at the macro from a distance that isn't smudged by emotion or cracked apart by the imposition of doubt
And for a while I'm reminded that I've come a long way
And whether I drown tomorrow while the climate scientists watch in boats in a hollow victory of correctness
Or continue my day quiet as my anxiety suppressing deconstruction of socialisation tells me is advisable
There's part of me remembers the empowerment and soul defining principle taken from the rise from rock bottom
It lets me know that fulfilment is out there, and that a loving optimism is the only way I have any right of living
So whether I keep losing the fight with the bitter, I keep getting up for another beating
And for those days when the bitter goes down
I can smile that warm smile again