Insecurity of the identity built.
The tick tocking of the stressors of mind.
An unweaving of the compass of life.
Unwound by the knitting of fates.
Unravelling of time long-gone.
But oh it’s now.
Physically weak
Mentally exhausted.
The heart rocked but yielded, still.
Too still, to find the courage.
The burden of living:
We mortals yield to its gravity.
Its presence immense
Wracked with sand in the eyes,
a bloated gut of detritus in the belly,
Twelve breaths wheezy and laboured.
Just meatbags indentured.
Time feasts on flesh,
A host of a life unbeknownst
Asphodel calls, but I do not hear it.
2022/23 - 2nd of a rather emo phase