Up late I rise reluctantly, groggy and grumpy.
The depressive extremes of yesterday’s
emotions still echoing through me. I wish for a different experience
today, fearing the past so recent. So often "my” sufferings seem so
personally objectionable, for some inane reason.
The habits of shame, depression and despair so believable,
So real, not unlike the belief of truth, bliss and joy that
Juxtapose my emergent awareness of existence.
I gravitate toward the “pleasant” while
Contrasting my suffering against humanity
All of my experiences feel so personal or conversely distant
This dialectic of seeking attention or
not giving a fuck at all
About those I know or those I don’t
I seem to mirror the world
emotions still echoing through me. I wish for a different experience
today, fearing the past so recent. So often "my” sufferings seem so
personally objectionable, for some inane reason.
The habits of shame, depression and despair so believable,
So real, not unlike the belief of truth, bliss and joy that
Juxtapose my emergent awareness of existence.
I gravitate toward the “pleasant” while
Contrasting my suffering against humanity
All of my experiences feel so personal or conversely distant
This dialectic of seeking attention or
not giving a fuck at all
About those I know or those I don’t
I seem to mirror the world
albeit imperfectly.
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