If I were to write about it,
would it help me solve it.
Trying to wreck my habit.
Am I just being a bit vapid.
Would it make things better
or simply make it inferior.
I have a thousand problems.
How do I decode them?
I know no solution to fix it.
How the pain kicks in,
then ends before it begins.
I must accomplish much
but this situation is such.
I must, I might figure it out.
I wish I had no doubt.
Just flowing through tasks.
One of life's finest hacks.
Come into my arms as you go
towards what you most adore.
I have problems in my mind.
I have problems I can't define.
Problems that wake me
while I am fast asleep.
Problems that go straight
through my predetermined fate.
Do I seek my maker for
a manual, resolve or door.
I long for the key to behave
as it must, and what i gave.
For what it's worth.
Being helpful towards.
Everything above and below
the clouds and all they know.
I wrote about it and my everyday
problems don't seem to shy away.
On the contrary, the bills are
still unpaid, my budget is too far.
Still down, beaten out of luck,
deep down in the dark alleys
of my heart, awaiting the finale.
I sit on my chair in the center
of my world, staring at the monitor.
End of the sentence, press enter.
Speak now my inner lamenter.
Speak before the curtains fall,
not unless you're spoken to at all.
Then what is writing
if not speaking through my typing
that is the everyday exciting.
It is every bit as frightening.
What if I am the one left starving
when the night falls upon us
and when their eyes gaze
mine, after going through days
and then weeks, which turned
quickly into months and months
poured into sleek bottles of years
years of sweat, blood and tears
years of longing and perseverance
a lot of things that don't make sense.
I've stashed 37 of these bottles
so far, I am just trying to glide
through life as it were a slide.
Laying one next to another.
Like reaching even further.
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