Just writing for precedent, or so I keep writing later if precedent works there.
Thinking about metre and it's slow going because all I want to do has already been here or so far off thinking about it gives me a thousand yard stare.

Trapped in myself has become my event horizon. Building cities for my heart out of **** and hair to keep it turned on.

Thinking about old people i know who stopped doing their compulsive creative medium at some point in their lives.
I imagine what stopped them was ease and some contract in blood they signed for their eager calling from about 50 years down the line and a crawling mammal which has hold of their mind.

Then that puts my tiny light in perspective and i forget after tapping my wrist to remember.
One day of that that mystified group of adults given to their fearful balmy impulses and I'll be a member.
I think this on my weaker days.
It makes me more friendly in some ways.
When have i wanted to be that when it comes down to it.
When this meager neglect sentiment ignorant of relative need well aware of the rifts of spirit between those
with and without means. It starts to pick up the toys from floors
while he's sleeping.