The weight of my thoughts seems to pull me underneath. With my own established expectations I couldn't meet. A body too tired to fight back, staring blankly at my buried feet. Should I pull myself up again? Then let myself fail, and fall down the stair I built with my broken inspiration? With my reasoning starting to bend— For the sharp as a knife word starts to distort my world. Trying to be consistent to make amends But my thoughts have other plans for me. Seeking an answer, I consistently lose myself. And I think, I'm going insane.