Boiling pot. Shaking walls. Shattered glass. Rattled awake from exhaustive apathy.
Running with a sense of urgency. Although, without a sense of direction. Just away.
Adjacent to a bottomless pit. One-thousand disembodied arms pull me back from the unknown. They choke me, beat me. Chest tight - like a corset. Stagger. Slip. Cloud of dust - swirling.
Fingers, wrapped around the edge of bright red stone, pull into the void. Rush of wind, followed by:
Suspension; Clarity; Release.
Pot boils over. Walls remain. Glass unscathed.
2021-03-30 22:09 (edited 2021-04-03 21:05)
Floating. Through time and space. For an entire existence or more. I am breaking free, but to what extent? What exists external of the predetermined paths that define us?
I find myself climbing up a tunnel of sludge. Cramped. Narrow. Slick. There’s comfort to be found in the crevasses along the way – dug out by those long ago embarked on the same journey. You can feel the warmth of the sun’s glow overhead. What other comforts lie just above the edge of the world? Progress is slow, the climb exhausting, and sometimes the sludge pulls you back in.
The end is nearer than you know.
How long have we been at the beginning of a new day?
the ship is gone, but the journey remains
We've entered the 'real world'. Business casual. Corporate America. God bless green paper.
Tired, stuck, and adrift in a sea of mud. I find myself surrounded. Mud men smile through me - long lost to their own pursuit. Perfect teeth and an aura of self-importance. Highlighted by the stench of misplaced dreams and forgotten promises.
Calling out for connection, they mutter to themselves with insincerity. "Beautiful weather today". "How's the wife"? "How's the job"? Empathize with their spellbound existence, though don't be fooled. Their eyes peer out, recognizing only job performance and return on investment.
Don't make any sudden movements. They can't see you if you don't move.
2020-11-15 20:35 (edited 2021-02-15 11:50)