Sick

I am ill. Sick with this terrible thing. Its tearing and tearing up.

My body tells me enough, my mind aches from lack of sleep.

I find myself getting sick of hearing that fucking bell tower, seeing the same blank faces on the same safe youth. I want experience, and all I have is precedent.

I am sick of watching life move without the ability to stop it and hold on to something true, something golden. I am sick of trying and trying, and never really moving forward. I am sick of failing. Sick of overcoming. I’m sick of being safe, I want danger and disaster, purpose and reaction. I am sick of feeling alone, as if I am a sliver on the worlds thumb and its trying desperately to tweeze me out. Sick of holding on to truths I fin falsified through boredom and disease, drugs and substance-free trips. Sick of hearing the same phrases, uttered by the same people who just speak. Sick of being a coffee shop revolutionary. I am sick of the cold and the pain, sick of having to drain my socks. Sick of closed doors and cars that wont start. Sick of not being able to sleep and when I do not being able to wake. Sick of being late and really sick of being early. I’m not sick of being, but truly sick of not being something. Oh my war is gone, and I miss it so…speak to me.

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