Zoetic

It’s so zoetic.

So immensely pathetic.

That I breathe my obsessions

That fuel my depression.

I’m envious.

I’m full of pettiness.

When I’m angry I can break things.

When I’m scared the anxiety stings.

Because my mind scares me

When I go from mood to mood.

Because my heart it scares me

When it beats faster than I want it to.

It’s so zoetic.

So fucking prophetic.

That my past will dictate

every move that I make.

It’s convenient

That I’m irrelevant.  

When I ache I can break down.

When I cry I curse the sound.

Because my thoughts frighten me.

How can I possibly make it through?

Because my feelings frighten me.

Tell me what am I supposed to do?

It’s zoetic.

So extremely poetic

That my falls don’t mean I’m out.

Isn’t that what life is all about?

It’s a consensus

that I’m overzealous.

When I’m high I can’t calm down.

When I’m low I’m flush with the ground.

Because my soul it terrifies me

with my constant negative point of view.

Because my obsession terrifies me

with the thought of losing myself to.