small apartment

Being awake since birth, not like eyes open no, more like the kind of awake that makes you feel like an insect that lives a day or so and slowly dies. Used to stare out the window and watch the powerlines as we go by, gave me the feeling of something crawling under my skin like the world was built too straight to be natural. Feel this world rather than wake around with some bloodshot eyes, drifting like a ghost. I’ll sit back and watch everybody trade pieces of themselves for little green papers. Sad feeling sad, how it sits behind fake smiles, feeding us nothing but fear. But I sit and think about galaxies folding into human suffering, or ancient instincts trapped inside a small apartment. The scary part is understanding the game. The sad part is understanding changes nothing. But I keep fucking going, because somewhere between the cigarettes, the music, the heartbreak, the paranoia, and the mooncolored chaos of being alive, possibly by finding something real. Not happiness exactly, something rawer, acceptance maybe? It taste bitter at first but settles warm in your chest later.