You manage the hurt from childhood inadequacies but the truth is that you were brutalized beyond comprehension.
You’re tethering on the strength of a connection that is faulty at best.
When the signal returns — you won’t be rescued into submission just because you survived a few good years that won’t toll on ya.
You deny censorship and yet ridicule the better crowd that do it better than you in full view. You hate that they keep winning. Each time the page that demands every click you can bear — assaults you.
Your a liar and a drunk.
As you dunk another to calm the waves of the mercenaries that have come to collect their daily rate for keeping you alive.
You are defenseless and flawless in the role of bitchy good girl gone senile.
You don’t care anymore.
The days can sink into the bowels of debt and payment but the only thing that holds true are the lies of solace that won’t end until you stop faking it.
And make it all the way to the end.
Of your consciousness.