Summer slips away while I hide in my room wasting time falling down wondering if I’ll ever share this wealth of love I hoard on my mound with someone besides myself: a tragedy, curled up on the rug, jaded by the compassion that has been given up and I can't get enough
I pinch in further to zoom on the microcosm of my life and see that it’s cropped into a frame without resolve or anyone to blame alone with the blinds drawn frozen in a still shot where I'm hiding from the moon and it has me believing that I might die alone from lack of sleep as I howl and brood
Morning breaks through requesting me with warmth and calling out to wake me before noon. I hear but don't listen, instead I'll bask in this gloom, listless
That surely must produce some worthwhile art in the end even if something will always feel like it's missing