he is it
(5.12.21)

[The] peripheral glare stabs into me repeatedly and I'm bleeding.
I can't look up because it's always been an accident,
yet it is a mistake of relief to me.
My heart tells me to be grateful to be as clumsy as I am,
but it has deceived me far too many times before.
How is this pattern of transparently false hope
helping me succeed?
My brain does not relent
trying to get me to see the truth,
but my heart has had more experience in control.
It knows if i spend 1000 milliseconds of my life
drowning in unknown colors that i will spend the next ten billion
attempting to ascertain them.
It knows that every time [It] even movies,
it struggles to beat.
It knows things about myself
I do not prefer to acknowledge.