Pale-faced and numb, i lay in bed tossing and turning through the hours
Sheets and blankets flung around
anger and guilt twisted around mixed in with blood rushing through body not reaching head
blinds are closed and little light is let into the room
the dog lays next to me
the laziness echoes throughout the house on a workless Tuesday
and my soul is out
gone fishing
there are many things to do palces to go
only if I had someone to go with
only if there were enough hours in the day to rewrite or revive the life im living
breathe some spirit into
this metiocracy
this routine
the cheese grater questions
the cheese grater conversations
that peel my skin off by the layer
the howl that I hear in a distant forest, country, school, classroom,
a long gone excitement and looking forward towards something great
a long list of withered hellos and goodbyes
a long list of dullness
boredom
and painfully tired moments
painful haunting blandness
living in the past, in the bed of my own bad decisions
the harvest I have planted, sown, and watered
the reaping is not what I wanted
the harvest is gross and wiltered
the fruit is not juicy
this heavy sensation of wrong
wrong directions
turns
and paths
led me to this point
and you’re supposed to know that sooner or later there will be other paths
opportunities
you just have to see them, find them, care enough
emptiness has invaded the space where curiosity used to bloom
and maybe happiness flies down like a bird sometimes and sings in the cage that is my heart
but her feathers don’t get too comfortable
and away she flies into the lonely night
leaving me nothing but the stars that paint the sky
the colors of my fingertips paint everything blue
and the patterns that fall out of my mouth come out like abc blocks
too structured and sharp
cutting my own mouth
my words taste like quiet
and feet could take me anywhere on a summer day
but they prefer mattresses with blankets and sheets
and it seems like I prefer sadness