Days devoid of thought and will. When the existential conundrum drowns you in a bucket of questioning tears.
The anger, the resentment manifesting itself clear yet saddled with a murky film, because you don't know what aches swell from within.
No reason why you suddenly clutch the corner of a bedsheet and seat yourself down, wrapped in a towel from a bath, sink your face in your palms, crying for no reason at all.
Watching hesitant droplets fall slow on a warm carpet draped around the floor, leaving a little spot where you glide a recently painted toe
and cover up the small moment of inner fragility
to keep yourself from knowing your excessive vulnerability that suddenly walked in this morning to tread over your life, and snatched whatever smile you felt you wanted to hide.
On deficient days of odd invalidity when you find reasons to breathe when isolation is what you seek, yet not even that in finality.
The anger, the resentment manifesting itself clear yet saddled with a murky film, because you don't know what aches swell from within.
No reason why you suddenly clutch the corner of a bedsheet and seat yourself down, wrapped in a towel from a bath, sink your face in your palms, crying for no reason at all.
Watching hesitant droplets fall slow on a warm carpet draped around the floor, leaving a little spot where you glide a recently painted toe
and cover up the small moment of inner fragility
to keep yourself from knowing your excessive vulnerability that suddenly walked in this morning to tread over your life, and snatched whatever smile you felt you wanted to hide.
On deficient days of odd invalidity when you find reasons to breathe when isolation is what you seek, yet not even that in finality.
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