Sometimes I try sometimes it works but often it won’t these are life’s little quirks.
The uncomfortable, naked feeling in frustrated moments when my goals are stripped and life loses its cool exterior.
As I lie there squirming and bare the knife edges deeper still decapitating my will.
The coup carries away all that was left of my day smoldering, furrowed, and hurt the ragtag remains burrow into evening.
In cold incubation sweating through the humid hours without leaders nor followers even flight needs too much fight.
Rising day finds a new man living in your hollow soul. You fight this stranger like an infection with all the conviction and strength of the drowning minutes.
When control escapes and invaders rest suddenly, you’ve done your best.
This stranger is your desire with another, familiar face presented to the vanquished as a prize for second place.