this used to feel easy.
now words come chopped
into chunks of
nothing
that feel odd strung together.
the embers of thoughts
fading to ash because they have
nothing to feed on.

yet, i remember distinctly
being able
to use them to my advantage.
use them to find
a deeper meaning then mere facade value.
not a shield, but an elegant weapon
cutting conversation like tissue paper.
my wit was honed keenly.

now it's merely a faded blade,
resting on a shelf collecting dust.

when words build walls
they can only be
torn down by more words,
and when you build monuments
to anything with sentences
with no blood to hold them in place
a mere whisper sends them
tumbling into jargon.

i've watched myself become
unintelligably coherant.
what i wish to create in my mind
looks like i'm heaping garbage to
pass off as art.
yet everyone else seems to understand,
and thinks it's beautiful.

i can speak, but i don't feel
what i'm saying.
i've thoughts, but they aren't worth
the paper i didn't use to write
them down.

no profound notion.
no semblance of genius.
even a simple shadow
would be incredible it seems,

but i've shut off the lamps,
closed the blinds, and now i have nothing
to focus on but the blinking red dots
that my retinas are slowly destroying.
and think on the rusty blade
i'm going to try to use
to cut the steel bars of this prison.

03/28/2006

Posted on 03/28/2006
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Michael