All vacant, all despondent. I’m the same bitter sense of ccomplishments mistaken and pawned as a false sense of courage. Wills stretched so thin, misconstrued and bent. We can swing for the fences, but distance is still distance. Piece by piece we chip and flake. Stitch and stitch, but never sew anything. Piece by piece, chip away, feel the same. Watching my reflection turn into someone great, ascending the ranks of my own personal hierarchy, never occurred and will never defer me from digging my own hole inch by inch. Traded in my spine for a gut of guilt. Wore it just the same, as if no one could tell. Wear it just the same, nobody can tell. Always wanting, never earning something more. No straight road ever carved my content heart. Choked up on all my own swallowed pride. Throwing myself down the stairs of my life. I can’t help myself. Any part of me.