• round two, boxer lips and cacophony. what is my art? i miss my drive. i'm calmer now, but my net worth is low. i do nothing. i waste time. i'm so tired all the time. but i'm calm and i cry less. i try less. is it worth the net loss? i don't know. i don't know how to start over. i don't know what i wanted to accomplish in the first place. how do you trace back (skin upon skin upon skin) through time? in all honesty, i'm writing for no one. i don't even think i'm writing for myself.
  
  i remember how trapped i used to feel. i realize now that i've always created my own loneliness. i am not misunderstood. i am disregarded. where do people find meaning?

  i stand in my garage wearing gym shorts and a black peacoat covered in dog hair. i let out a gust of smoke that dissipates quickly into the afternoon of falling snow. i am blurry and unfocused. my neighbour across the street is shoveling his driveway diligently. he's wearing nice boots and nice-fitting black peacoat. he brings in the recycling bins and cleans out his garage. he has his shit together. i am vacant and worthless.
  
  it's like trying to run through thigh-deep water. i know. if i want to be successful, i need to want success as much as i want oxygen. but what is success? is it success in school? success at work? success on a relationship level? because i have such a hard time being fulfilled by any of that. i can't remember ever feeling fulfilled. nothing fills me with passion or gives me a reason to actually want to leave my house. i'm indecisive and dull, lately. i can't decide what to eat for breakfast. so i don't eat breakfast. my mother comes home in the evening and heats up frozen springrolls.

  it's so quiet. i clear my throat but i have nothing to say.

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