(no subject)
Too many shelves to fill, too many bills to pay and file, curtains to pick, too many contracts to negotiate, too much quinapril-this and glucophage-that and labwork goes from the bottom up, too many days of spending the same hours in the same place. Too much paper and cardboard and carbon copies and not enough light. Not enough empty space. A skin grows over this lake and I'm a stone skimming over the surface, skimming skipping can't go in. Or sink or swim.
There are no songs, no poems, no art. No deep breaths or thoughts and no tears. I haven't touched the strings or seen the stars and I haven't smiled in a long long time. I now see nothing but what is here. I never meant to get on this bus.
Were they all like me? Do they all go where I am now to die?
Soon, he says, he'll teach me to draw blood.
There are no songs, no poems, no art. No deep breaths or thoughts and no tears. I haven't touched the strings or seen the stars and I haven't smiled in a long long time. I now see nothing but what is here. I never meant to get on this bus.
Were they all like me? Do they all go where I am now to die?
Soon, he says, he'll teach me to draw blood.