Am I losing touch?
have I lost my face?
is everything just scrambling now
and out of place?
a fistful of facts and they are
swirling out of tact and
everything is blinding chaos
beyond my broken eyes again
what now? I wonder. What now?
I ponder upon all conceivable options
and all the walls and choices
dance in contradicting voices
run. stay. persevere and either any way
this is all artificial art anyway
pointless soul-consuming cartons
of creativity that create past-times
and passing time
why waste a wallop of reflection and
inspection towards a future
that isn’t mine to begin with?
let it be.
with twisted toes I stutter
barely heard at all that