In the seat where I sit
Breathing heavily on my neck is pressure, slowly moving about like "Central Air".
If ever I wish to extend just my finger into another seat,
A seat of success
I’m reminded quickly of how success is hurtful
No more hurtful than failure
However, failure is what I brush my teeth with in the morning.
Distressed & overwhelmed with fear,
Failure steps in & reminds me how im already apart of it,
And that I should just relax.
Drawn in by the distasteful feelings,
Paying homage to depression & enclosing myself with frustration.
Failure is among everything I am
So failure is easy, delightful, but in a emotional sense, hard.
But why change your uncomfortableness to better benefit yourself?
Who knows? You can't tell; you're always in your thoughts,
Feeling uneasy with the intensity of worry.
With the thought of people knowing/seeing, you for what you see yourself as.
Hoping they won't know you completely.
Hoping they won’t see the failure that you’ve bestowed, reluctantly upon yourself.
So, you take shorter breaths hoping they can’t smell it on you.
The rank smell of failure.
FAILURE! FAILURE! FAILURE!
Simple, hurtful, yet fitting.
It fits every curve of my humanity.
It’s in my hair
On my breath
In-between my toes
It’s so noticeable, yet you say nothing.
You just stare and pass me by.
To you I’m nothing and to failure I’m everything.
Failure stays where I lay.
It swallows me whole
Failure completes me
I cover my eyes, so it does not show
But it hangs over me as if a shadow, stalking a cloud.
Failure is never ending in my everyday routine
It moves like a disease to more unlikely survivors of the over-accomplishing world.
So it spreads.
On the seat where I sat,
Failure subsides still.
Waiting for the next victim with the realization of a “nothingness” filled future.
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