This barely alive website, for instance. This blog. This writing into the void.
The art shop that never got around to fully opening.
The countless fragments of stories waiting for places to fit in.
The poems, broken, stunted, lost.
Daily bargains and compromises.
My most precious currencies now are time and energy, yet both I waste with abandon when I feel too sad.
The year wanes. What have I done? What do I have to show for anything? Nothing much. Nothing at all.
A chain of restarts. Never lifting off the ground.
Medications that dull my sight of the unseen.
A brain recognizing itself and wants to self-destruct.
Everything is a moving target and I am too tired.
I used to want to be found and now I just want to run away.
The labyrinth is a prison of dead ends and deadlines.
The only way is through all the walls, breaking all borders, boundaries, rules.
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