Problems?

I am not a perfectionist.
I am a coward.
Like a homeless man who dies from hunger behind the alley.
Like a filthy rich stock holder who dies in a car crash.
I have problems.
I know my problems.
But I run from them.
Or cry begging them to go away...
or cry begging for more so I can cry some more.

I have this pity fest
where I would find the tiniest problems in life,
blow it up to the point where I can't see anything but that tiny macro dot.
I work my ass off trying to
"understand" the problem a little deeper.
The deeper I go,
the more confused I become.
Then,
I realize that I'm lost.
And I cry.
and cry...
The problem's still there.
and I'm still fucking confused.

still so fucking confused.

Comical. So comical.

Cabbage Wabbage