a strong muse will groove to their own tune
& taper off from the noises from sprites with eyes glazed from ragweed
attempting to drown out the spirit of musicology
with a dark pseudology
destroying the stairway to The Moon
reread & you may discover more than an affirmation of greed
There are days where I don’t particularly feel anything
More days than I care to even fathom
Days where any sensation seems to pass over me with no bearing
As if I were merely a phantom
Drifting along in space without a suit, no oxygen to breathe
You’d think that would be cause for alarm
Perhaps it would
If it weren’t one of those days
More days than I care to fathom
Makes me wonder if Time is actually passing at all
Is it like smoke?
Does the inside of Pandora’s box simply not care
or is the punchline missing from this big cosmic joke?
These days are not everyday
at least I’ll tell myself that while I continue to be
& squeeze my eyes until they’re ready to bleed
What is this desire to unsucceed spectacularly in every way, burbling in the underbelly of my being like a cooking teapot, scorching hot to the touch & an ear-splitting high pitched whistle?
The way it reels my soul in, leaving me gasping & flopping about like a common guppy….something in the air does not compute…
And what’s so strange, so scary, is that this sensation is a haunting from a specter causing an unsettling disturbance in the force from a source of which time has no bearing. The ghost of past, present, & future together in a cataclysmic bang of the forever beforeandafter
Ain’t that a bitch?
Less a question of ability, moreso a question of fortitude. A quiet quandary of epic proportions. Raging like the Great Red Stain of Jupiter.
something in the air does not compute…
there is no air
& I’ll suffocate under the weight of a thousand unanswered questions before I have time to wake up