Eggs on cause it’s not yet time to lie down and wait. It nudges me forward cause there’s no strength. Stuck in a wide-eyed coma. Unable to get out of it cause there’s only the white ceiling sealing in. Nothing more… there’s nothing more to tell me that my senses work. It’s a kind of claustrophobia. There’s nothing to thrash against. Stymied.
Cramps turned numb now. Can’t feel the ground. Slithering in a vacuum. Nothing to grip onto. Not even a wisp of air. Not one fucking sane strand. Not insane either. Just gasping in gulps of blandness. Passions now vague. They come in hot mercury flashes and sag and fractured, crackle and get whisked away into the blank. Zilch.
I mean look at this. This is all that comes out. This is all.
Everything I thought my chosen ‘means’ was, isn’t. My body will be physically intelligent till it can. I will wake up everyday on time, bathe, eat, get dressed, hop onto my bike, overtake, swerve, keep time, surf, write cause it’s gotta be written…words coming out in gooey, sticky gushes like blood through hypodermic needle and then splat, will orkut, will sleep and do it all over again. This till it turns to me in disgust and turns me in. I want out. No not that. I want the ceiling to crack. I want to feel.
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