my missing muse.

[cypressbrandy]

i'm scared.
i'm thinking and thinking and thinking.
back and forth, rewinding and going forwards, even though there's no reel of film to go over with.
but i'm still thinking and grinding everything up.
i'm not eschewing anything, but i'm not doing enough.
it's worse, when you know it yourself that you're not doing anything.
i'm afraid to shift the pieces around.
i'm comparing my situation to the shifting of tectonic plates.
i'd like to think i'm skirting round the plate boundaries.
i don't want to awake dormant volcanoes.
it's stupid though, that i'm not sure myself that the stakes are high.
i'm not even doing a thing about it.
both ways, i'm afraid.

don't settle for comfortable. 
i know that.
but my place right now can hardly be described as comfortable;
more like six feet under, in a state of decomposition.
just lying there, eyes open (or closed), with no stars to gaze at (you don't deserve to do it anyway)
the maggots and the mealworms and all the other creatures of this dark underworld.
you just have to prod at the soil from below. unearth yourself.

i can't say i'm timid, even though i'm afraid. there's fear. i'm scared. but i'm not timid, in this case.
it's not apt to say that.
fog. 
limbs are all flimsy; the sleeves of the top i'm wearing are flapping away-i'm handless.
head and feet out and about with their own agendas.

i'm digging down under; the other way instead. downwards.
it's getting murkier everytime.

this is becoming a seemingly eternal sojourn.