stalling
i have gotten much worse.
i yield to a possession that makes me alien and transparent, overlays of scenes like a double exposure. i am helpless at the basement window. my output is weak, made weaker by the fact that it should be strong. i am unable to connect meaningfully to anything. the subdivisions get smaller and i get farther, more lost and more stuck in the crystalline jelly of the sense i try to make.
i can barely get a word down. my sentences all start the same. the sense that i should be consolidating is a blinding light ray reflected on the mirage on who i should be, in my own mind. look, my sentences make no sense. my ideas are skeletal at best
i need to find my way to someone. nowhere holds what i am looking for. i am stalling, tires splattering mud. i see my mistakes but i can’t help them. it is very hard to be like they want you to be. it is even more impossible to be who you want to be