Almost rhyming makes me sleepy

Fever from exhaustion and aches from reluctance
Stress responses to unbearable situations
Call me broken
Of the mind perhaps, the body certainly
But not the heart
And ain’t that some weird shit
To have things flipped table like that
But still that familiar song of close but not close enough plays on the radio
Turning that dial, looking for a stronger frequency
Rolling those dice hoping for a triple hard eight
To run the board and let it ride
Until dreams become reality
But reality is wicked
It does care what you want, only what bargain will you make
Because that’s how it is here
We sell our time, physical or mental
And what’s the price tag on a new life
Hard to buy when you are still making installments on the one you have
Just broke enough to know that you aren’t broke
Alive, paying bills, told to cut back on that overpriced coffee that tastes like freedom and for a few sips you get to forget that the rent is due and food is running low.
Buying everything cheap
Instead of well, because saving costs to much, can’t go to work if you aren’t wearing shoes
Pull yourself up by your bootstraps
That’s some non-newtonian physics
Smiling faces like they’ve done you a favor
Tired of this broken wheel
This simulation
Fucking programmers
Always introducing new bugs with each new sketch update
Fuck it
I gotta live here
What happens when it goes away
Futures uncertain but still
I can always depend on being wide awake when it’s time to sleep

Hunting for beginning

The problem with writing about inner turmoil is that as you deal with your emotional trauma that voice which drives you to write gets quieter and quieter
Sometimes depression yells pretty loudly, sometimes anxiety breaks through and gibbers all over the page. But that bleak dying cry from the abyss is silent. And this is better, I know it’s better. It’s just hard to reach that emotional depth. And I wonder if the wounds are really healed or if there’s just so much scar tissue that I can’t feel through it.
I feel like I cry about things which never would have touched me before. I don’t know if that’s progress or emotional honesty. I’m on a self guided journey. There are good and bad things to celebrate in that, but sometimes, you just want someone to tell you that you are doing the right thing. But who can? When you are adrift in the wilderness.
Even when you are with someone, you are alone. What else could you be, in the white noise silence. In the space of their lives and the distance between you