Losing It

I'm losing it slowly, my grip on reality, thank you, oh chemicals, for making this so difficult. You've gotta love it, that high-low point, that confusion at the top, that distraction at the bottom, always biting at the diamond like an ass at a carrot, always so stupid and unable to bear all these shiny little runners in my periphery, always just ahead and to the side of me, never in my reach no matter who is holding me. Everything's so pretty when you can't afford it, and everything's so perfect when it isn't yours, and dissatisfaction used to suit me just fine, but grown ups can't wander the way that they try. I'm falling on pavement, over and over, a ragdoll dropped from the thirty third story, the sight of me gory, no guts and no glory, just stuffing and emptiness and some kind of agony, this medicated numb just might be the death of me.