The Fix

I'm having a bad day. Can I just have a bad day? It seems to me that when shit hits the fan I gotta stand tall. I fail to do so and I crash on the pavement lost in thinking that I never put my hands down to cushion the fall. It hurts at times, I can stand up but the bruises, scratches, and abrasions keep getting bigger. I learn, but I never heal. The cuts opening each time I pick at them so I can get the dirt out, but instead it just pains me more.

The point?

Nothing, Something, Everything.

There's always a point that just sticks out and punctures your kidney left to burst and your internal system drowns in blood. Everything choking while the red river flows out the only way it'll go.

I miss it at times when I wasn't so worried. When I was a creature of carelessness, a person that can look at something and not be shook. Nowadays I'm a cat, peeking and hiding, prowling, playing with objects. I'm the type of cat that'll lie down on your laptop make it overheat, forcing you to reboot, but it's too hot to even turn on. That's the kind of cat I am. A lazy cat knowing that his time is worthless when his children will never see the day.

I've been fixed.

Not in a good way, fixed like put into a norm that just ends up being the same.

I'm fixed. My path stops, I'm stuck, I've been fixed.

It takes a moment to think about what I've been doing and what I haven't, what I can improve on and what I'm good at. It doesn't matter when you can't do anything without something. Regaining that something might not even help, maybe it will.

I just get too paranoid and I'm unable to speak to anyone. I take things to heart, even when people don't mean it.

I guess the real point is to never get fixed