My despondency is at an all time high, the circumstances which brought me here an all time low.
Where is the reality tv producer when you need him? Someone to yell “cut” and raise the lights
I’m a slave in my own castle, lacking the self discipline to eat three meals a day, my yoga schedule sits unmarked on my calendar and I just peacefully wither away
My self doubt ebbs and flows, like a rollercoaster with no stop button, the riders just stuck on a centrifugal journey that peaks and drops with little resolve
I sit in my castle helping everyone else with their problems, resolving to carry out my situation with grace
Each season of the Kardashians wraps me like an embrace, and I resign myself to accept my listlessness as my lot in life
Someone call the producer and tell him things are getting bleak; dark; too obscure for saving
He’s the referee of our own making and I need this ride to stop, so I can vomit in peace watching as the waves of the universe swell above me, the green screen no longer a mirage