my head hurts.
my eyes have bags that are deeper than my jansport.
they itch too.
this day-old stale taste of coffee is stuck in my mouth
like a socially awkward child stuck in his bedroom.
both of which disturb the public when released.
both of which become more bitter in time when kept inside.
and with all the time that has already passed
all i have to show for myself
are the same old things.
the same failing health.
the same recycled artwork.
the same shirts, hoodies and tattered jeans.
the same habits.
the same thought process.
the same work ethic.
the same everything.
i want to be more.
it could be worse
but it could be better.
i may look, feel and smell like i've done a lot
but realistically
i've done nothing.