Panicked Works

There's nothing but panic in this contrived state of being.

Slipping in and out of love with yourself and with the ones you surround yourself with,

Where everything you try and everything you do,

You feel yourself kicking to stay alive but only find that

You're sinking deeper.

There's a melody in the air that buzzes and croons

And everybody you know is singing the same fucking tune

You purse your lips and stretch your vocals chords in every which way,

But you can't harmonize at all,

Nothing works.

Your panic pounds in your ears and you shapeshift for weeks,

Trying to find a new you that only seems to please

You clean up your mistakes and you put the past behind,

But still you're drowning, you're fucking drowning.

Just let go. No, you can't.

You can't allow yourself to die

So you kick with all your might

But you're down. Yes, you're at the bottom.

Which way do you swim when you're disoriented

And every direction points down?

You're falling away. You're slipping apart.

You can't even harmonize and you've forgotten how to rhyme.

Everyday you're just a little bit farther away,

While this trainwreck fucks your organs.

There's a song all your friends are singing,

Their voices are lovely and full of life,

They sing about fortune

And progress

And success

And love

And fulfilled dreams

And accomplished desires

And you know just how you sound,

You want to flesh the song out,

And add your little tune,

But whatever chords you try,

No matter the shape of the song.

Nothing seems to work.

Nothing ever works.