I must say, it's a little hard to swallow.
The worlds I have distanced myself into
I'm suffocating.
I have to tell the truth, I love my man. I love myself, but I'm losing it to anger.
I can't seem to separate the incompetence of these fools, and the love I used to have.
Somewhere I lost the ability to be civilized.
Those rights I fight for— the justice served.
The freedom I live for is being swallowed by my boss.
With every penny is my acceptance to the grand demise.
The aches and pains of my morals entice my anxiety.
I've sat here for six hours, living in the past.
It's sick.
I fought addiction, saved myself with hands to hold me up.
I loved the world, and it loved me.
I saw the better outcome; had hope.
I had control of my woeful life.
I chose to protect my hands, in turn, their touch faded.
I can't plan for the way out anymore when I've already conquered larger battles.
This game
where I paddle to the end
it has too many undercurrents.
I'm melting with commitment issues.
Fuck the hand that feeds me!
I'm sick with making the best mistake of my life.
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