Days

Days saunter by like restless amigos, waiting for their chance to take shape. i don't speak the language of the days. they keep turning and turning, like shuffling cards, their meaning getting lost. i can't keep up with these days. i listen to music too loud or that is the conception. i feel like a six finger glove. unsettled is maybe the best word for my current state. everything inside me screams unsettled while everything outside screams status quo. i can't break the cycle of repeat offense. i am institutionalized in a world where my crime was existance.