It sticks to me

Boredom, insecurity. A pot with the

wrong ingredients to grow. The

night prior I was asleep. Asleep

within being awake. Why did she

leave? I know why. What I cannot

perceive is to why my subconscious

cannot come to terms with it. My

heart breathes polluted air. Air

that turns it black like the pot.

Take it step by step is what I tell

myself. My mind runs a thousand

miles per minute. It is too hard to

change when I have lived

like this all my life.