There’s always shit going on, right? But I’m black and white, I fixate by personality; I rid myself of one trouble and the next in line swoops in. One day, humbled, absolutely solid, adamant. Just twenty hours later, nauseating doubt. That this solid rock of a structure is actually a styrofoam stand-in. Cheap. Flimsy.

Life is cynical — she outdoes me, easy.

Words. Words, words, they flow so freely from some minds, some mouths, honest or not. Talk is cheap and cheap is even less than nothing. My hands are dirtied; yes, I’ve lied. Lied when I didn’t know I was lying, found out that I had lied once I’d experienced far more. I grew up, but not enough. I still speak too plainly and naïvely expect the same in return; I still haven’t learned — how do I distinguish sincerity? Partial sincerity? Veiled meaning? Gasping for attention?

Trust. Trust is so goddamned hard. I didn’t understand the rules then, but I said I’d try; hell, I agreed to try to try and began there. &now, I’ve progressed to “trying,” but I still don’t understand any better atop my unsteady, cheapened prop. I’m not talented enough to play the game. I just can’t play this game.