A poem.

I have writers block today. This is a poem I wrote a while back. It's always interesting looking at morsels of the past with new eyes.

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Sitting here.

Not entirely sure what the trigger was.

Imagining what it would be like if I were standing.

Elbows on my knees. Feet wide. Nose full. Tears infinitely staining- never transcending enough.

Within each droplet, a particle of pain released for the universe to absorb.

When will these tears manifest more than a momentary existence?

I can do that. I thought that. I almost said that. I felt that. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Tonight. Next week.

Dead.

Yet to be awakened.

Ahora mismo. This very moment. All I have. To lose.

It loses it's purity once I let it out. It's mine. Don't hurt it. Don't tell me I'm wrong.

It's all I have.

Where will I be if you take me away?

My universe encapsulates and imprisons me.

But, it's so comfortable. I want out so bad.

It's not locked. The door's open. Take a step.

I'm so much better at dreaming.

I'm so talented.

Dream. Dream. Dream.

No one knows what goes on up here.

LEAP!

Shut up! Stop yelling at me!

Let me rest. Let me be.

But I haven't done anything.

Exactly.

I'm tired.

Arrogant, scared, entitled.

Am I really those things?

Am I really about truth?

Are you?

What is real? Please can someone tell me!?

Am I willing to sacrifice everything to be true?

Do I have a choice?

There I go again. Unanswerable questions.

Back to the circularity of distraction.

Philosophical orgasm.

I'm almost there.

Isn't that the best part anyway?

I want to walk away. Afraid I lost my line. My spark.

I'll walk away first. You're probably not even listening.

You think I'm crazy.

'REALIZE YOUR POWER'- a voice says way back there.

But I'm still walking.

'STOP! MAKE A CHANGE!'

I look down at the treadmill.

I prefer it.

It tells me how far I've gone.

There aren't any mile markers on the real road.

So by now I understand it a little more.

One road block of many.

But, the proof is in the pudding.

Isn't it always?

I'm still pretending.

Waiting for tomorrow.

And that hard rain.

With droplets that birth gold and never die.

-Someday.