Sitting down at your desk,
Your world around you a mess,
Thoughts racing about as you undress,
Discarding an unneeded mask,
Just what is it that stares back?
In your crummy laptop screen.
Another distorted impression?
Or who you truly are.
Project document left open,
The endless white with no end insight,
Begging to be filled.
Yet that sounds remains,
Like the dread filling your veins.
A twisted sound were no peace can be found
Before you finally set it aside.
What's another day?
As weeks turn to months,
And yet the doc remains the same.
That same face staring back,
giving you a desire to punch out the glass.
Though, it would only make things worse.
How just how
does one get better now?
Is it even an achievable goal?
Or maybe one day that flame will abate.
Leaving only embers of remorse on my plate.
Maybe just maybe one day I will find a way to sate
This hole that only seems to take.
Until then, I just look at myself and scream
Just what is the point of all of this then.
To bite, and claw
Unhinge my jaw
To try and claim
That belongings that was stolen from me?
Or is it simply my lot
To dress back up
Refine my role,
And have such hollow accomplishments extolled?
Maybe just one day I will discover a way to both be me, and happy.
