I’ll bite through my cheek
to prove i’m still here
you can’t replace the feeling of
adapting to feel at all
nihilistic, reserved, defensive and not unheard
so praise yourself for
being alive the masochist dance goes on
Soft breath, black lungs, empty sighs, tired cries,
I can’t recall
a time when we cherished our condition
We are insecurities packed in perfectly frail bodies,
isn’t that the complexity that we romanticized?
With a self deprived notion that things won’t get better.
(it’s not perfect thou, I want to simply be buried in ideologies,
i can’t take the pressure of life out of theory ,
awake, embrace, remission so endure, survive, romanticize.)