manic.

_everyone_understands.

we trade in our dated *justices*,

our obsolescent *orders*.

but oh—in return?!

the shiny, the new,

the incredibly distracting!

there are still *orders* _everywhere_ anyway;

online, offline, awake, asleep,

some come with complimentary Starbucks,

some come with /"It's complicated,"/

and all are shipped to _anywere_ in the world.

so is this our justice v2.0.0-rc1?

days spent blurry and _chaotic_;

hoping, praying, that one day,

maybe, just maybe,

we'll reach the top?

maybe one day—the writing on the wall

will start to seem a little clearer…

those whispy, grey strands of wisdom.

slowly drowing in apathy.

maybe one day—our comedic struggle of life

will permit a few specks of sanity…

glistening like the first Easter Egg of the year;

hidden in the holes where our attention-spans used to be.

maybe one day—nothing special

will happen at all…

nothing will become of anything;

the dusk murdered by night,

the mourning's endless blue skies,

scattered pandemonium,

manic, helpless, complacent,

as we lie there,

slowly, beautifully,

drowning in our own wanderlust.

--

Joey Pabalinas