distraction

why didn’t i catch myself?
it’s so cold. it’s so tiring.
lying to everyone.
“i’m okay, i’m making progress”
no i’m not.
my pen is like a bell, it tolls out the futility of my efforts.
my pen is like a wind-chime, and i make it ring.
aimless, like the wind.
hours pass, i stare at nothing.
meaningless consumption.
i keep telling myself that i’ll get better.
i guess i’m a subset of everyone, i lie to myself too.
there’s no positive ending.
i’ll go to bed with nothing done, just so i can wake up and do it again.
can’t even write this without interrupting myself, i guess i can’t help it.
when will i break this cycle?