when the good news comes
i usually gloom and creep.
when the good news comes
i always hide and seek.
when the good news comes
i sometimes moan and weep.
when the bad news comes
i often find my feet.

something to look for
desire and yurn
not how the world,
but how our minds turn.

trapped,
by perennial repression,
tired,
of playing detective, invariably.

and i know im just bitter
and i know im just dancing sane
but who isnt their own best enemy.

reading thick into every line
attempting to confiscate
each and every morsal
of, joy which gives me sight of light.

cant i just fold over and collapse?
this chest of avidity is,
it’s weighing me down.