so, i’m fine. i’m all right, really. back on my feet again, after so long spent struggling to get my ass in gear. i’m doing this, and it’s good, really. stitching up the holes i tore in my skin, with band-aids and polysporin.
with wishes in wells and gambler’s logic. it’ll be better next time, won’t it? if i just try a little bit harder to will the world perfect. and then, when i look into the night, i’ll think of rainbows and ice cream and limitless possibilities, not the crushing fear of failure, and the buckling knees below me. i’ll say positive affirmations into the mirror, i’ll wash my face twice a day.
but when the wifi goes out, i won’t miss it at all. so find me laughing off my problems over text message at 12am, with so much work ahead of me.
wrapped up in denial like a blanket, soft and warm and loving, in that way i’ve always craved. halfhearted workouts in flannel shirts and jeans, because there’s always more to do, always someone ten steps ahead, and if they did it, why can’t i do it too?
’cause i can work hard, i can give you whatever you need. except sometimes, when the slightest thing goes wrong, it takes all my self-control not to cry like a baby on the worn-out carpet. but i’ll keep it together for you, i promise.
i’ll do anything for the good life, like lukewarm bathwater in my palms. its clean-cut crystal catching the morning light. but maybe that’s not a good thing. maybe it’s all pointless, because we are cosmic and insignificant, and i think maybe i shouldn’t watch so much tv.
as i float mindless above cloud nine, slowly losing touch with reality.