i feel

there's a distinct lack of effort
behind every thing i do.
illusions drive me forward
i don't know what holds the reins.
all the while i'm determined
to figure out the prospect of
enjoyment along the minutiae of it all.

there's a distinct sense of
disappointment that i feel
when i'm called into the room.
there's a number with my name
and a brief, uninteresting appointment
in an office without a face.

i am constantly ashamed of
the things i have yet to say.
i want nothing more than to succeed.
success is everything.
yet i can't prepare
for a future that leads nowhere.