As I cradle what is left of tonight, my hands start to shake. A sharp pain pulses through my left arm, my chest begins to ache. This misfortune soothes me to sleep. This cycle always repeats 'til I wake up stuck in between my bed sheets and gravity.
A looming reminder that I haven't changed. When it comes to progress, I keep running way. The looming reminder: I slept in for days. When it comes to living, I keep running away.
Coping with existence is the only option. I'll avoid these sober steps in the comfort of my friends--the ones I can confide in, those who acknowledge I exist.
Epitome may pity me for as long as it chooses but I'm alive, still breathing.