A fickle weapon

How to express what I wish to express?
How to make sense of it all?

While not to blaming the obvious or
convenient.

This mutual feeling,
This tendency, to stare off into the distance,
To a future that may never be mine.

To hold my beliefs and views above reality.

Is this how I adjust?
My adaptation?
Do I only make up my mind in order to justify my reality ?

My loose language

My attempts to articulate my thoughts into words,
Words that fall victim to my web off conscious.

Perhaps Iv grown wiry and need rest
Or
Perhaps I haven't had my fill,
My daily bread
it's Hunger another unbounded force the human furry.

Another push for misery.
Another push for innovation.

I am not alone..
I reassure my self

This confusion will pass.
This confusion.... is a virtue.
The highest state of mind.

Impermanence the savior of my days!
I can be so vain and forgetful.