Are you lost?

I'm always fighting a pull or pushing a limit. Disconnected mostly and full of fear sometimes. I'm always wasting my energy on thought and regret. Thinking, rethinking and trying not to think. Writing lists and clipping wishes. Like reminders of normality or what I think I want to be. It's never ending. A genetic defect I assume. Because heaven knows I won't take credit for it...or anything. I would love nothing more than to roll with it but I know I don't have the wherewithal to take it any place real. And my real place holds me here regardless. This is a perfect excuse to do nothing about it or blame you for letting me do nothing. I keep fighting it and I force being normal but I want to be part of the bigger thing. I want that to be my thing. I want too much I suppose. Or maybe I'm just partly shackled still. And the guilt of my non-participation is wearing me. But I have seen less do more with less and more, if you know what I mean. Reading back on my thoughts I conclude I think a lot. I think about doing and complain like a spoiled child and then I do nothing and complain some more. Are you lost? Because to me you look somewhat put together. I don't believe that no one understands me. I know for a fact that I actually have very little to complain about. But I have seen the pattern play out generations before me and I don't want a part in it. Hell, I've seen runners run with no legs. It is my goal to break the cycle I am. I am always fighting a pull or pushing a limit. But not in a good way. I've been swimming against the current of possibility, watching others ride it downstream. I'm jaded. Underestimating myself. At what point do I figure it out. 
Well not today, today is not that day. What if this is life. That would be something...

Plastic flowers

It's not a good time to write...or it is a perfect time. I'm tired and hanging onto heavy lids. Not worn or deeply disturbed just weary, just today. Life is good, blue sky abound. But the nagging impending doomsday rest anxiously upon my mind's hammock. Swinging in wait I can't help but feel like the weather will break, the fighting will escalate, the states will fall and something ....something will happen. I ponder on the cloud on whether my innocents will emerge from it or if they could succeed at all.  It's a fine mess we built. Naive ignorance laid the stone that will crush us all. Worse off so Canadian is my current awareness in that I will smile at the wolf in sheep's clothing, accept my silver metal and feel ashamed at my thoughts. Helpless, Hopeless, Powerless. I am not the one that will resurrect anything. I want to be. But atlas I am bound by the very rope I weave. It's so funny. Funny in the way that I will laugh great tears of defeat and confusion. Swing, swing.... it is soothing. I drank from the vile as did you, hell I made the packaging and advertising too. Just a brainwashed brain brainwashing the sane. Lovely optimistic human spirit. Like dumb dancing children in a field of plastic flowers. Can't they smell that there is nothing left. But they are too busy dancing. And I am too busy making plastic flowers. It's over...at least 'as it was' is. But maybe some of the new will survive and be less tired and sacrifice everything to get it right. That which we so royally screwed. Because even through my disgusting weakness I feel hope, if not my own than theirs. And I hope its real.