scribbled on the way home from school

We are the ones who notice all the trivial yet stunning intricacies in life. The beautiful introverts, the subtle shades of existence that exist everywhere. Each interaction a profound self-discovery, a gorgeous exultant tone, or a desperate cry of anguished alienation of existence. We exist outside the spectrum. We suffer outside the spectrum. And we die outside the spectrum. Each battered breath a battle; and each battle a brawl for mental survival. And as we battle, we dig our graves deeper and deeper until we fall. Inevitably buried by our own futile existences.

just another day

Everywhere I look are piercing pupils staring into my wretched existence, slowly squeezing all pathetic pulp out of my poor excuse for a soul. I feign connection and attempt to pierce them right back. But I can’t. In shame I shy away with a shell-shocked gaze, pretend I understand the ineffable hieroglyphics being presented with precision before my delusional dichotomy of emotion.
The trucks crawl before me but I am always riding my bike beside them. Observing the progress as I slowly wear away my nearly-flat front tire. I struggle to join the pack and instantly enthusiasm is excavated and my pages pave the pavement.
Tied in this treacherous rope, I am uncomfortable and undesirable. Each movement nerve-wracking, I can resist or walk from the pitcher’s mound, peaceful at last.
I always think I am going to walk, but I always uncomfortably squirm out of the serpent’s grasp.