Thoughtlessly
I sit here
And I write
A garbage collection of words
Without putting an ounce of effort
To care for what they say

Turn up the volume to drown out that noise
The noise of life tearing away at your poise.
Envying those who effortlessly succeed
That noise is constantly putting effort in to impede.

A terribly determined turtle finds itself never wrong,
Because its goal will not be met for another creature’s lifetime.
This extraordinary turtle, so bent on its desires
Will fall a thousand years, and only be halfway there.
Cousin of Medusa’s eyes, encased halfway in stone
A machine unmatched with self serving attributes
Don’t get in its way, or it will have to turn around
And you do not have time for that, you’ve got a to-do list.
But a turtle, oh no, it only has one goal.
Don’t move too quick, impatience is the only feared predator.

An empty-calendar day is a day to desire.
It is a gift to which all the weary require.
What may come of said day is endless potential endeavors.
Until that day comes true and you find yourself stuck within it forever.
I don’t recall asking for this calamity.
But on this day, I find myself relieving other’s worry with formalities.
I am doing just fine, please don’t worry about a thing.
Sitting here lying while every syllable spoken starts to sting.
Reminiscing on the past, just a tic before midnight,
In a state of ignorant bliss, until the new day dawned all of its might.
A fragile child with expectations doomed to be thwarted.
This day is destined for you and it cannot- Will not be averted.
A day full of responsibility is a day to get by.
A day full of nothing is a day you will cry, I WANT TO
die.

Don’t relinquish your thoughts to a day designed for melancholy.
On your busiest day full of distracting stress, are you seldom folly.
Recuperate. Recover. Bounce back. Convalesce.
Every ounce you exert toward positivity is step of progress.
This is just a day in which you find yourself subjugated.
Only those who did not try on this day were suffocated.
It’s a painful wretched day you can never undo.
But it’s a memory for you to tell others; it is something to get through.
The sun has risen and fallen and the dark night has returned,
But tomorrow is a full-calendar day, a return to pure pleasure, which you have well earned.

This is what it is. If you don’t like it, despise it in peace.
I will write this now, and soon share it with you as if you begged me, “oh please!”
I don’t care what you think, this piece is for me.
But it’s sad because I can’t stop thinking of you for its these words you’ll read.

I am an overflow of emotions, but it isn’t unpleasant.
I am not full of anything, my mood is only a crescent.
Can you see what I mean, is the message even present?
Should I scrap this right here like torn wrapping paper from a present?

That is egregious. You’ve already started.
Please don’t abandon me, writer, I don’t want to be discarded.
You’re doing so well, you’re really an artist.
I love how you write me so eager and fullhearted.

Nowhere left to go with this story, so it seems.
A piece of writing, five minutes ago was just a dream.
I can picture you now, encased in a box with so much gleam.
Goodbye to you words with a nonsensical theme.

Fundamental
Foundation.
Facetious
Frivolous
Fruitless
Facade.
Foi­l
Frustrate
Fastidious
Fool.

I pray, oh I pray
Tomorrow brings a fog this way
Have you ever walked through a forest on such a foggy day?
Look up to find not a single branch sway
As this fog shrouded forest engulfs you in its grey.

A soul yonder,
Speak
Yes
Does it ease.

Inhale, ah
Forever.

Breathe.

A distance, great
Felt closed with a breeze.

Whisper to me
It is not a dream.

Quick!
Grasp it, sense it,
Make it freeze?

What was it so abrupt,
Here then gone
Sickly stomachs quease.

Another breeze
Another month
Another, forgotten routine.

Consistency, unfathomable
But fathom I ask… you

Please.

Once under moon
Tell me
It is not a dream.