I stare at the wall with thoughts thick as molasses sliding down my arms, mind is blank, the refrigerator hums, semi-solitude. Tickle the ivories, hoping to spark the motivation to learn a song, but instead find ashes where fire has not been in god knows how long. My brain has heard the screams of my liver and knows it is time to rebalance the chemicals, but it will take some time. I'm surrounded by books with knowledge, yet all I have the will to do is add to mine my sub-standard notes. Write the things that feel like sentences, but when spoke, are accidental rhythm and stride, I don't know. My eyelids have attached to them dangling rocks under gravity's command while my eyes cannot dare to fall under a restful pitch, so I stare. Catatonic, canonical, half here, whole gone, I stare.