Particularly tricky parts

Is the way I wend the troubled way between getting enraged by the indifferent sprawl of shit happenstance and the standing wave of clear purpose.

My lack of words to describe this, this thing that fucks and shits and cunts can't really, really make that clear. How fucked up this is.

Days walking, days wanting. Days without any personal filling up, just one more day of being. Existing, and finally flattening that out in a lithium way. Take the corners off, round down the edges. Make the serrated blunt.

One more, little more, fucking sanded down blank acceptance.

Cannons made out of grit and twigs, raised over the head, eyes not seeing below the walls. One more, little more, in the continuing retinue of bollocks.