The elasticity has sort of lost its appeal.
Fervent interest in nothing.
I have genuinely escaped the clutches of whatever the hell that was
but now the added advantage or disadvantage is that I seemingly have lost the whole thing
Probably creased by the cycle, I am done for.
The initial plan was to, uhmm, get over it
Get through it
Get to it
But here we are
No navigation, no sense of urgency, no sense.
In a hopeless attempt to feel something I have done nothing.
Only responding to the stimulus of dust.
I am exceptionally skilled at meandering through it all.
Unphased, Untainted. Unscathed.
This is honestly really repetitive.
Boring. Boring.
I have so much to say
But I have run out of words.
sort of like I have run out of breath.
I am grateful though.
It took some time to realise.
Realise that this is a good thing.
Often, when I write it is out of the desperation
For a friend. For an ear.
For the semblance of reciprocation.
An I hear you.
An I understand you.
Daddy issues and all of that aside,
I genuinely think that's what I used to write for.
That ah-ha!
But no, I never got it so like everything else,
I have adapted to and adopted from.
The silence became gold in my teeth.
The noise became silver in my hair.
The words became old friends who waved from within the dispensary out.
What a whirlwind!
My honest opinion on the matter is that.
Despite the number of times my hands were burnt,
It took getting sick of healing rather than being sick of being sick
To break the spell
Learning that bruises, as poetic as they may be are honestly just an
uncomfortable reminder of what you forced.
Look at me I can write
Look at me I can sing
For the love of God just look!
The whole concept is just offside
Comments
Post a Comment