Deliriously I come up with lines at all the wrong times and watch them sift finely through my short term memory as I rehearse them on my way back from a cigarette break. I make the effort to furiously commit words to form but I can't... I just can't sometimes... or anymore.
Rhymes that made sense before I opened the door to where my computer sits disassociate in the suspense between spaces.
I tiptoe around what inspires me, circumnavigating the fires in my soul that erupt from the sea in spouts of boiling irony, breaking the calmness of the water and tossing the raft I've crafted carefully into a helpless state of readjusting.
I am living my dream but somehow I'm not conscious, the life that I mean to be in is stalking at my haunches and hiding from view whenever I try to look as though it is trying to avoid making me embarrassed of myself, of who I am trying to become and even as I go now as hard as I can the aching in my thumbs is breaking my concentration and I know I can't get down what I meant to.
I bow to what I believe in and shuffle my feet in sacred patterns hoping that my prayers will matter in the grand scheme of things, otherwise I'm just a shattered human being leaving pieces of myself in places that I frequent.
Returning to awareness in a different state of consciousness I launch this pressing need again, I'm depressed and hurting, in all fairness I feel like I'm burning away for good, that no amount of new growth could replace the old wood that I'm throwing away just to heat my heart every day. I'm praying as hard as I can between breaks of seemingly faking it because so much is at stake and if I break the spell for even a moment I'll release hell. I have a minute left before I tell myself to quit trying and go to bed, nothing is going to happen tonight and I'm just going to be alone with my head again.