this writing is so full of bloody shit

can time ever be wasted? i cant hold it in my hands,
if you could wash your face right off,
maybe you would be happier?
i'm reaching out for this shit like it's my job-
but i'm just another unemployed kid.
this emptiness is so unconvincing.
and my skin just keeps on itching.
i don't have a reason to complain.
this life is really something
disabilitated laziness is what's making this boring.