i am dizzy from the constant rotation of this ever spinning planet, a suicide at the convenience store, clean up in aisle four, the lottery machine sprayed down in crimson

bumper to bumper, bumper cars bounce down the high road while i skirt the outskirts of the low road yet you’ll still arrive before me

this desperation is nothing new, yet still i dream of you, nothing else i can do but find another line of nothing to spew, overdue untrue observational disillusions

insecurities dance like a broadway showgirl obscured by the lights shining on the crowd instead of the stage, vacant expressions cast dispersions on trying your hardest for no outcome, outdone by the trappings of everydayness