There are intensely red tulips decanting on sturdy green stalks somewhere in the Netherlands. As there are the great spans of albatros riding the thermals, hours on end.
The sky above me is indifferent to my suffering, as it should be. This world existed before and will continue to exist without me.
I can’t seem to do anything right. When I pick up in one task, I fall behind in another. And I keep making fundamental mistakes that only deepens the disappointment, now, permanently lining my father’s psyche.
I feel old. Harrowed and sucked dry. A husk of what I could have been. My body is responding to the stress, I need to go to the bathroom more frequently.
Somehow. Some fucking how I keep living. My lungs, like the sky, is indifferent to my situation, unless it is hyperventilating. My heart, a disfigured lump of muscle blithely pumps away.
I made promises to people that I won’t do stupid things.
I’ll do my best to keep them.
Badger
Badger Underground 