its the smallest things and
adjusting yourself to the everyday
trivialities and nowhere
conversations that people
seem to enjoy so much.
to be caught in this
nightmare where you end up talking
about the weather,
the football,
struggling to smile,
nodding
and trying desperately not to show
how hollow you think it is
as you wish for something more real
and wonder if they do
too.
im not sure if they do or
they don't,
or which would be more
tragic.
our bodies hide our minds.
nothing real is ever
said.
as i lie half way in between
wishing to please and wishing to
transcend,
trying to attach myself to some part
of another
and often
failing.
