Is anyone having a nice time?

Step into the light, let me see your face, trace the dents of cadence and toughened exterior. I have so many questions but I can’t quite bring myself to ask any of them; I’m hoping you can catch the glitches of adversity in my gaze because I’m tired of talking. I’m bored, aren’t you bored? The creak of dawn softens my limbs, over and over, until I’m stumbling into the kitchen, spooning coffee granules down my throat, futile attempts to string together the pieces of myself that got away in the night. And I can feel the itch of incentive somewhere deep inside this osseous matter, it never goes away, I can never quite reach. For a body filled with desire there is an awful lot of indolence leaking from its pores.

There aren’t many people I can stomach, you can’t blame me for searching for something to satiate the distaste. Let me weave a portrayal of understanding where there is nothing but indifference, dress your apathy up as a version of discernment that meets me halfway. At least I’m self aware enough to know you’re not real, rather a hopeless amalgamation of what I wish you were. I’m bored, aren’t you bored?