own my heart

my hands look are aged fifty years in the glow of my laptop screen. i'm like a junkie looking for a fix, trying to find that one Shiny Thing, that golden ticket, that One Ring that will make everything happilyeverafter. but it's just me a the erie glow and my ancient-looking hands and miles to go before i sleep weeks to wait before i can find satisfaction, at least for a moment. and then it will be up and over and around and around and around again, on to the next thing looking for the next thrill next and sooner and more.