A desperation of sorts.

I’m feeling desperation.

At least that’s what I think it is.

It’s a deep, raw, uncontrollable yearning to be . . .


                                                . . . Anything.

Happy. Sad. A fuck up. A drop out. An addict. A graduate. A writer. A success.

Every new moment and every passing mood brings a new desperation.

A panic to be doing something.

I mean something is always more important to be doing.

More important than floating.

Floating through the fake college life experience, the fake transition into the real world, the fake education to help me prepare for life on my own.

 Floating through the haze of things that aren’t real.

And floating makes me desperate.

To be anywhere but here.

Doing anything but this.

Anything real. Anything true. Restlessly awaiting a desperation worth the wait. 


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