Somehow

Somehow today was better. A little more and a little less introspective. And, again no free time, not even for lunch.

Why is it so hard to make it through all of this?

Free Write (Inspired by Artaud)

Collapsing membranes and sidewalk chalk to soothe a ribbed part of myself. I never can tell where my mind is unfocused. It's breathing toxic silence and icy commands. Will I know a full nights rest instead of restless sleep? Smother my instincts and kill my flame or burn a smile in ashy milk. Who gives a damn about damn it. Who gives a damn about railways and camera phones? I don't know what this couch should feel like... a little more sensual or unexhibited. So naked I feel like I'm drowning. Purple shadow on my lids and making me crave sleep and sexy jeans. Maybe we should never touch or maybe I don't feel these things for you or anyone. Maybe I'm still frozen in black lingerie that I've never bought. Or maybe I don't want to write these things and remind myself that I have a conscious presence that I can't find most days. So bleak in the sunny weather. Maybe I should move to the mountains and caress the trees there. They would love to be unearthed. And I would love to send my roots into the rugged soil. So shunning the night and the twenty four hours that are really twenty four minutes that are really twenty four seconds that are really... I can't tell. If I button up my suit will I know? If I stand outside in shorts and a slippered top will you think I need to be tenderized? I don't. Need to be tenderized. I don't need to find life. I don't need to find another junction of myself to feel inadequate at.