it's the state of stagnation, this illness
the sun streams in from striped blinds and i
sit, wonder
do i like being sick?
time moves like a current
bending around me to create space for
me, how bizarre
there's a potion mixing itself
inside of me
part boredom part content and i
sit, wonder
how long till i collect dust?
(it's a saturday afternoon at 2:58PM but it feels like sunday and i
sit, wonder
how to start writing again)
