Twenty-two prose

When things are clear, it's easy,

But it rarely has been.

Energy is drained and I'd rather be numb,

I'm meant to miss in all ways,

Some ways,

No ways,

And I do,

But I am never fixated.

I can't make sense of myself when I live in it,

It might be the end when I know. 

Do I do it now?

Pain and fragility exists here,

And the mind has all of the possibilities that may not be true

And if the inside was known,

I might be held even if I was the sun.