i really need to go back to my sophomoric poetry and read those obscure phrases i wrote using words like "anathema" unpretentiously. this slump is starting to take its toll on me.

i once cracked open a fortune cookie that implored me,
"IT only gets better when YOU get better".
i took its crispy advice.
swapped out my wardrobe to fitting clothes.
replaced the strings on my instruments.
started the conversations and paid the compliments.
began truly listening. granting second chances. trying to love unconditionally.
throughout my changes,
i've noticed IT only gets worse
with no regard to how much better YOU have become.
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn