Sweet surrender be true

fractured and frantic. pick the pieces up off the floor, no use there. Not feeling up to anything. Please quiet down, I'm trying to think. Trying to feel alive, relieved of all piled onto me. I've not done well on anything. My heart isn't hear anymore. I think it's gone. Not in a bus in alaska, not home, not close to this computer into which I type. It's peeling away like the banana sticker on my desk. It lacks adhesiveness to what I stick to. and yet, and yet, no one can ever make it the same. No one has glue. Press it back on, hope it sticks, one more day. Two more stapled together packets. Two more demoralizing defeats into the face of the one staring blankly at a book, instead of shouting about. Trained repeatedly to lack feeling. It's means nothing. We're hear to have a good time and be dust. [we can't be, can we?] To take care of ourselves at the brutal expense of others. No feelings involved. You can't have them. Sweet lies, do not be true.