Inertia

I am eager to keep your mind off that song that has been playing in your head for hours. I could try making sense while you are jumping between spaces. I could take my turn standing still while you stray. I want to hold on to something, would you offer me a hand? This isn’t about me being prescient. I am almost exhausted.

I am a machine overpowered by emotions. I am a human who makes no sense. My sympathy is dull and my jokes are dry. Would you tolerate my lack of tolerance?

Why are you always grey? Why am I always black and white? Maybe it’s because of my ego – maybe it’s because of yours.

Now and then I find myself looping through things I don’t want to. I used to be fun, so please cooperate. I don’t like to repeat. I have a goal. Make it happen.

Or perhaps I have been somehow misled.

Because the crescent moon doesn’t shine as bright.

I write the script, I decide how the story ends. The end is when I start making sense. I hope I’m not making any sense.

I’m trying not to acknowledge the depth of infiltration these fragments of exhaustion have in me. No, I will never admit the exhaustion. Because I am always right and I will prove everyone wrong. And what has been warned will not come true. I’m cleaning up my act, by the way.

“Were running against the clock, don't hesitate or you will never know.” – Karnivool, Simple Boy