Wake Up

Sulking and skulking

in your skull-fuckingly paralyzed state of being.

Existing in a constant state of excuses

for never taking accountability.

Ever growing, but never growing

up. You push your fate around,

like you rhythmically push your luck.

Instead of managing or making, or creating

the little bits of life left in your skin,

pulsating and exasperating,

in the bed that's bigger than your motivation.

Never knowing, never owning,

what you're doing, what you've done.

Loss of grip- on reality, aspirations and income

is never enough

to halt your hesitation

or stop this created fate

you refer to as luck.