I was supposed to be happy,
that is what they said this felt like,
but the more I tried to believe in it,
the more I believed I was a candidate for contentment,
the more I became numb to all of this,
what did that say about me,
nothing I suppose,
or something about nothing,
yes,
that could have been it,
or all of this could have been the fact that I was existing on an empty stomach,
and an empty mind,
and my synapses were full of calculated abrasions,
I could not even focus on happiness,
why I do not know,
but I suppose it had something to do with my familiarity with discontentment,
and some kind of necessity for new pain,
sure,
something like that
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