It feels like a carousel. It used to be a hurricane.
We all adapt.
We breathe from our stomachs
screaming, "oh, no no no no no no no no"
until we know enough to make it.
It's enough to make you sick.
You don't want/need/feel/mean anything now.
Round and round the ups and downs
The "where I've been" and "what I've fucking done"
Is it enough? A fifth or what?
A gallon is enough to make me nervous.
The downs the ups. The shitty luck.
The hole between the sun and my bed.
It's all okay. I'm used to it.
It doesn't even make me nervous.
It used to be a hurricane. Now, it's just a carousel.
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