wilt

i’ve never been good at letting go. so i scroll, and i scroll, through hypnotic grids of pretty pictures on my phone. the nausea’s setting in now, and i am all alone, in my room on a monday night, thinking about impractical dreams, and how much i’ve always loved the look of old streetlights.

and now i’m fast asleep in the middle of the day, staring blankly at a computer screen, with nothing left to give. begging for words to trickle out of a rusty faucet, with the same song on loop, because if i just hear this chorus one time more, i swear it’s gonna come to me. it’s all gonna get better.

but it doesn’t, obviously. as could be expected. and i’ve got no one but myself to blame for this, and when i blame myself, i hate myself, right down to my core.

i’m not a perfect person, in any stretch of those words. i’ve got a lot to figure out. and now every day, i’m this close to just setting it all aflame. because i’m no better than anyone else, and those simple words have the potential to destroy me, in a single blow.

so with wilting fingertips, i stare you down across the road. i meet you right in the fucking eye, and i hold my ground. i’m not letting this drought take me down–not after how far i’ve come.

so if i go down, i’ll go down kicking, and screaming. you better believe i’m putting up a fight. i’ll make a mess on the pavement, and murmur broken stanzas into the night, and they’ll be mangled like the rest of me, tired and bleeding and covered in dust. but they’re there, and i think maybe, they’re a bit better then last time. and that’s progress.

so tomorrow morning, i’m gonna wake up at seven thirty. i’m gonna drag myself out of bed to turn off my alarm, take a shower, eat some breakfast, and turn on my phone. i’ll try my best, to sort these lines into some kind of logic or purpose. and then, maybe i’ll go on a walk, or study for a test. or write some more. we’ll see.

and i know things kinda suck right now. but i’m not giving up that easily.

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