I’m really not here today,
not really in time with the rest of the world,
just floating,
generic and grey,
through the hands of the clock
as if they were made of water.
Time today
ebbs and flows, a tidal wave
of muddy water,
and with each hard hit to the face,
each urgent push at my back,
I am angry,
a strange sentiment,
so alien that I didn’t recognize
its face
until just now,
and I figured that if it were to stay hidden
(for it must stay hidden)
then I should probably write it out,
fling these feelings at the screen
and forget.
However, the right adjectives,
the beautiful nouns and the glorious verbs
are not coming to me
and it hurts to admit it, but
I am still angry.