It’s hopeless to compete against you.
I’ve lost my nitch.
Where I belong.
I’m doing well, I’m busy, I’m succeeding.
But where’s the “me” in this?
Do I make time to write? Or photograph (yes)? Draw? Paint? Read? Play music for fun?
It’s been years and the walls are white.
My smile has faded.
Or is fake.
My friends are far away and non-existant.
My folks and my pets live in a bubble too far for me to reach
And surrounded by a field of thorns too thick to breach.
I’m low on energy. I’m low on tolerance. I’m low on income and high on output.