Minutes like hours turned into days
unfolding months,
The loss of initiative,
lacking of ambition...
To write and such things and so forth.
It's been so long since I've dedicated thought
toward being adhered to another
to form sense of sentence structure.
Spilt like guts onto a computer screen,
these fractured thoughts are flowing
out of the faucet I call my head.
Here I go, trying on these feelings for size.
Not quite fitting.
(Not that they ever were.)
Uncomfortable not uncommon.
You see, or you don't-
either which way doesn't matter
much anyhow.
Though essentially such an attachment
to such a word, or person,or thing
is the matter like substance, cytoplasm if you will...
Holding your sanity somewhat
[and hopefully for your sake and mine]
intact.
Sometimes,
and by this I mean
m o s t
of the time
(TIME is not given at all)
People will throw themselves
at an idea of what love______is.
They bleed out their
entire
being
into one word, one feeling.
They rush and
s.c.r.a.m.b.l.e.
to bandage their wounds.
Forgetting the legitimate meaning & purpose
hiding
behind what (is) and what always should have been.
No longer recognizing
how to: Love,
mainly themselves.
Once you've broken the lock
you are free
to leave.
