You Couldn't Blame Her For Giving Up

She gets me, and the fact that I move nowhere quickly, and I try to move bur fall down slickly. No epiphany, just broken hearted misery of my own self tyranny, and not falling asleep briskly. So I contemplate amphetamines, and relapse hard on nicotine, and try to forget the broken scene of living with what I deemed to be the only way to ream the seeds of what I decided life could be. I want to move on, be strong for my mom and learn to live with a different song. But I sit, linger over it, and wait for sleep to come in fits. I cannot quit for fear that it will be over quick and ill care about something more than this shit.