There is no place for me in modernity. Seriously.
What is need? What is want? What is regret?
I'm trying so hard to keep everyone happy that these responsibilities won't let me breathe. I stab words at the sky; they bleed the sky, but no one is dyed. All I ask is some clarity. One work day of peace of mind. This doesn't exist. One action that doesn't sacrifice something critical. This is all I ask. I turn my fucking head the wrong way and I spite the other side of my neck.
Fuck gravity: the new universal law is that nothing is sacred. You can't satisfy one thing without destroying something else.
I haven't spoken to my father in about a month for no reason. I haven't spoken to my dear friends in longer. I'm so at odds with myself that I regret my own thoughts.
Words like poison. No. Words like soda, the slow decay.
Who has time when the world begs?
When picturing the enormity of every decision, who has the means to justify a nap? A day away? A day where everything and everyone is greeted with a no.
Here in the sweet afterthought of some small manifestation of my turmoil, I lie in the dust, loth to action. Shields that blind with polished faces, swords that weigh with heavy hilts.
Here I am.
My biggest fear? The severing of strings that bind me to some whole. The bindings are pulling, pulling, pulling. If I loosen my slack on one, the other become more tense and tenuous.