Every morning that I wake,
I watch time slow down,much like one watches a building fall,
or even a coconut descending from
the high heavens
to strike the unassuming.
I only have time to think,
to be mindful,
to be a slave
to the labyrinthine corridors
of my own skull.
There is something
overwhelming
about all of this. Something
that consumes my vision
and devours my ears.
I can't watch.
It isn't like me to be this
stupid
about the iterative processes
that life has to offer. But
I am scared,
terrified at my core
that what I see now
is naught but ash and history.
Yet everyday I continue to wake.
I climb out of bed and hope
that I am as
crazy
as I feel that I am.
My only hope for inner peace
is to accept what I am.
And maybe this new notion
that I am actually
a crazy fuck
will let me sleep at night.
