1.22 Free Write


Don’t know what my issue is

I’m either sleepless or sick

Perhaps it’s imbalance

Or maybe it’s madness

But I’m probably just a bitch

I’m sick of my own shit

With all of these excuses 

Despite that they’re true

I get real tired of them too

Of all of it- all the fucking time

I think that I should just pack up

And quit my life

I’m running out of options

But not wanting to be so obvious

Dejected, always a bit nervous

When again I’ve had enough

I get just a little bit more fucked up

I know deep down

I’m trying way too hard

Just to end up in the same place that I started

Or maybe further behind than before

But I’m no longer qualified to determine anymore

When everyday feels the fucking same

I’m sitting with a book of matches

Just one toss away  

I’m either twisted or manic 

But I’m probably just a bitch 

Who’ll admit

It’s as good as it gets

And I’m sick of my own excuses

In all of this hopeless uselessness.

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