Are you going to give up now?

She asked me.

She didn’t really ask, as much as she was showing me

I have no other options.

Of course I wasn’t going to give up.

I am a puppet of my own violent motivation.

Steadily, repeatedly, until I die.

And you will die before you give up.

That was the message.

This is what I wake up to,

jarring and unrelenting reason.

If only I had her focus,

or her concentration.

She’s probably clicking her nails,

dulling until I stop writing.