I have enough words to tell you I don’t have anything to say,
Not now and not ever again.
What’s the point?
What does it matter?
Does anyone actually value being literate,
Or is it merely a convenience?
Buried in megapixels,
Whored out for micro SDs,
If only you had a brain.
For the fact that change has occurred,
Life remains the same;
Yet because hardly anything is the same,
It’s only then we recognize there has been any change.
D I E
You couldn’t pay me to write as of late,
I’ve been blaming a lack of motivation;
A lack of desire,
and at times a lack of much to write.
But it’s honestly at the point,
Where I know it’s not because of lack.
It’s because of the excess,
The surplus in my day to day;
The excess of work,
The excess of isolating and limiting depression,
The overwhelming loose fingered grip I feel upon myself.
I keep crashing,
Only to need to wake up moments after;
Or at least that’s how my weary head sees it in this foggy existence.