write, write, write

I can't think of any starts

To a day, to a week, to a year,

Not even to a sentence.

It all seems to trod away. Clap and claw,

Clap and claw goes that familiar song of

Getting things done and moving forward.

As I remain stagnated in the pit, watching

Everyone go by like so many male pregnant seahorses.


My paragraph fades away.

My face melts beaded with sweat and candle wax.

I want to create and do but feel the

Stuck as honey tum-tum feeling. It holds my innards in place

And leaves a sticky sweet film on my heart.

Until all I hear are whispers, and everything I see is through a

Frosted kaleidoscope lens.


I feel strange, the edges of depression starting to simmer

Until I get hot with it, full from it.

The levels change with that slick energy.

It goes happily and sorrowfully through veins.

Some days slow, some days strong and steady.

The bad is like a roaring cloud, damp and uneven.

Glossing over me in sheets of metallic rain

Until I think, I can't god-damn take anymore.


The trick phrase is "in spite".

In spite of this shit, I will keep

Going, keep my heart attached

With at least one thread

(The needle I carry often used to sew me back together).

In spite of this gloom I will wait for something orange-fizzy-hot

To brighten the sky.

In spite of my life being like an exhaust filled backfire I will

Tread on with my two feet, my two hands reaching out

To touch what I can't see.


xx, C

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