So, I've noticed recently quite a peculiar phenomenon.

Something that just seems to go on and on!

A tricksty little notion-

Nay, a bumbling fuss of a commotion!

A devotion to emotion which only leads me to conclude-

I live my life in Slow Motion.

Now, I say this carefully as I dare not intrude upon uncertainties,

But my tactfully concluded analysis leads me to believe-

That there is something wrong.




Some sort of a emotional paralysis, a general lethargy?

Which then turned on its head leads to the greatest irony as it does not drive me to a blurred insanity of speeding through events unimportant to me.

It leads me instead to-

Inaction.

Like an important section of urgency in me shut down-

Leaving me the lenient mercy of being able to look around and talk the talk and walk the walk and chalk up all my defects and errors to be fixed-

To something that can be done later.



But how does swallowing this apathetic little potion lead me back to that silly old notion of living life-

In Slow Motion?

Well, you see when you watch a train wreck before your eyes-

You realise that you won't risk your neck for any old prize related to that. It should be good, really good.

But seeing through your own lies isn't much of a prize.

It's much more comfortable to sit back and take the flak for hack that you've become.

An innocent witness to your own crime-

One who does not have the time for going back to their prime.

It's much better to live in this-

Sublime existence-

Where resistance is met by complete indifference.

And like a bystander I watch events unfold.



And it is this, my companion-

The emotionless ocean's erosion of a what used to be a stalwart bastion of emotion.

The forceful implosion of what used to be a joyful explosion.

This demotion to lowly groveller no other person could sate themselves on.

This is what leads me to believe that silly little notion-

No matter how big the commotion-

That I live my life-

In Slow Motion

What is the price of loyalty?
Of strife and grief present in me,
For long gone, sundry, royalty,
Which accused me of heresy.

For tightness and regret I feel,
On errant ship in windless sea,
I’ve been laid bare upon the keel,
My wrongs displayed for all to see.

I hear them still rowing the oars,
I still long for those distant shores,
My dreams still filled with thoughts of home.

Yet all desire I possess
Shall bring me nothing, nonetheless,
For all the fault is still my own.