Adaptation to Confetti

Adaptation to Confetti

Understand I just want to adapt and live.
I just want to exist somewhere serene.

I'm missing so many pieces to my puzzle.
I wouldn't even have glue to keep it together.
It's no matter at hand,
Since everything I start seems to crumble in form.

Impulse was once my motivation,
but as quick as an impulse appears,
it evades me.
Might as well let the dust drown it.

I want to quit all things present.
Jump into a new ambience skin...
Starting over seems more right,
yet analyzing steals the time.

Instead of beginning, I pause.

Analyzing with overcritical self-descrimination
Digging in until I finally forget what I was once dreaming of.
This never-ending thought process is brutality.

I'll just come right out and tell you what I'm thinking,
as soon as this UGLY raging beast uncovers my mouth.

Maybe the codes i dance in circles with are my fears.
I don't want to devalue my cryptic information on careless ears.

All I really want to know is why all I find are pieces.
Pieces of paper strewn around like a confetti after-party.
Containing brightly colored aggrivation and frustration,
knowingly flowing at dangerous paces out of an ink pen.






Adaptation to Confetti (the adaptation to chaos life throws in our direction; sprinkled like confetti in a housefull of anti-vacuumers)