I so often feel like a spectator in my own life

So little control over so many things

My actions

My thoughts

My focus

My feelings

Though maybe they’re not mine

Maybe they’re just his

This dumb meat bag

Whose eyes I see this world through

Each day like an episode of a TV show

Where you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop

But it never seems to

Is he gonna finally fix all of the issues

That he could’ve fixed

A million times over

That he knows he could’ve fixed?

Or is he gonna sit on his bed

And pretend that none of it exists

As he tears through yet another story?

As he contemplates a new idea?

As he loses himself in frivolous thought?

As he starts another hobby he knows he won’t get far in?

As he rehashes the same thoughts he has had 50 other times?

As he loses hours doing everything and nothing at the same time?

As he yells at himself to fix what he could’ve?

As he hates himself for not doing what he can?

As he repeats the same platitudes that define how he thinks but not how he asks?

Every day starts with that question but it always seems

Like it picks the worst option

Flipping a coin that is the same on both sides

Convinced that something might change

He flips it everyday

Knowing that if he stopped

He would never need to flip it again

But he keeps flipping anyway

It would be so easy to stop

He knows that it would

Yet it somehow feels like it would be hard

Like it would jeopardize everything he loves

If he didn’t flip that coin every morning