I find consistency in lines of repetition. 

The day to day hustle that keeps me moving in the same patterns. 

Being push in directions not wanted and held back, pushing, tearing against the distant desires.

Climbing so many stairs but only obtaining a higher level of discomfort.

The walls patterns are safe and familiar but provide no comfort to my unsettled subconscious. 

All consistency is lost through the beings that are so incapable of support.

Stanchions are deteriorating, being weathered by their own weight

Relying on the lack of weakness instead of an amount of strength.  

Every initial emotion is a complete contradiction to the ones that follow. 

Responses are rushed and take no thought.

And there is no comfort in consistency not found.