God damn. God damn. God damn.
I sink beneath the hands in surrender
In the miasma of winter
Things look binary
And all my nerves are silver with want.
My mouth is anxious, and I look stupidly
At momentary walls crashing into me
In a shower of split-second guilt that pools
Like feet beneath me.
I do expect the world to conform to my insecurities
Simply by providing weak points
Reality finds the path of least
This is axiomatic.