Pushing Words Through the Funnel of a Barren Grey Vision

it doesn’t feel like midday.
not even with all the signs in place.
it doesn’t feel like much of anything,
in any direction, if you’re honest.
sometimes the anticlimax
from one night to the next day
leaves you deadened, leaden, dull:
neglected to the shadow of a wall refusing
you exist.
indifference leaves you desperate to describe,
if only for a hint of something beating.
still, careful thoughts stray freely
from the grip of a lazy focus
and you know that this won’t end until it does.
looking out a window to the proof of a day
built of things of a world you can not know,
your heart still functions, pushing blood,
but your chest feels nothing rise.


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