It Doesn't Get Better
Late at night, I stared into the mirror or perhaps sat slumped in a chair, and it was like the buzz of a disappointing metal show rang in my ears. I felt tired, sore, and worn, with a ringing in my ears like too much loud disappointment.
Ever since that night, it's like the sorrow switch has been turned on in my head. I forced myself to eat, twice, at work (because passing out at work is embarrassing) but my appetite is dead. My entire body feels like an empty dried up vessel and there's so many things I need to be getting done but the instant I start any of them I can't help but start wondering why I'm bothering.
Stretched too thin like a Tolkien reference to breakfast, I tried my best. I may have hurt her but it was still in the pursuit of trying my best. And I spent the next day being told that it was nice, but not enough. I will not bend, or beg, or break. If I am to be not enough, then so be it: at this point it is nothing more than the skipping of old vinyl. Trite and too well-known, the melody swings around again, with every note barely different from the last rotation. My dance is stupid and tired, I don't try to make it any prettier or painful than it is.
Written On: Home Computer
