Fumbling once again

My hands are jittery again,

I’m still not adjusted to being okay without

a little destruction – there is a small flame in my belly,

I am organized chaos.

The days I try to feel better often fail.

When I feel lost,

I wear your smile.

My addictions were never fiction.

I don’t like pinky promises,

I tend to rip thoughts through them.

Take me far from this place,

I don’t like to be filled with self hate.

We wish upon a star,

but the truth is choking my reality.

They say that we should love the process –

the progress of failure hints that success is close by.

Don’t worry,

I am alive

and I am trying.


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