Black box. Intelligence to picking locks. Pad locked. Sweating nickel sized drops. Lying in my sob spot. Its a choice I chose to be and fucking honestly, try it on for size. Anxieties’ stuck inside, like butterflies who cannot coincide so monotonously they collide. It's like me lifting up the day and night and holding on to them until I die. Struggle everyday, suffer to fight, with no payoff and no sight of light, but I like it. Focused, magnified intensity. Shaking, stuttering, trying to sleep. I'd like to see you try and feel like me to this degree.

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