What if this is it? Is it enough?
I wonder sometimes if happiness is really just an illusion, elusive and prone to confusion, buried deep within the psyche, and if I don’t like it, let’s get Mikey.
I wonder sometimes if tranquility is simply beyond my ability, well outside my grasp, something I have to ask for but never receive, the concept of its existence difficult to believe.
I wonder sometimes if peace is really just spelled wrong, and pieces of my life feel wrong and smell wrong, somewhere around me but completely undetected, as though the clues are there but I’m the undetective.
I wonder sometimes if it’s possible to be stronger, if the things that don’t kill me actually will, they just take a bit longer, if writing this all down will make everything clearer or less, if cleanliness is next to godliness but I am just a mess.