Syndaria Ahranyk

I can feel an uneasiness settling, making its home in the center of my being.
Writhing in eagerness and uneven desire, counterbalanced by potential rejection for this feeling I’m riddled with. Where is the good in all this?
Is this what living is? Swallowing remembrance? Turning a new leaf?
Among other euphemisms, for being stupid enough to forget.
Something that’s ridiculously easy to do.

A split mind, too blind to know what the other is doing. Nothing is accomplished in confusion.
One kills while the other cries.
Despair and hope side by side, waiting for one to rise and the other to fail.
Positivity is elastic, it can be stretched to fit over what you deem right.
It can be mistaken for a rush of energy, a thirst for life, a sense of achievement, an inebriated right.
All the while festering, brooding and decaying inside.