I keep feeling like I am doing nothing.
I stand by as life keeps running away.
Time is as fragile as Murano glass pieces and I'm clumsy.
I touch to break.
Everything I do
Eating,
Sleeping,
Thinking,
Breathing,
Poetry,
Feels like a waste of time.
I'm not doing what I should be doing.
I stand by as life keeps running away.
I stand a watcher to my own life while I should be a do-er.
I'm an audience to a play I was supposed to write.
I talk about living life in first person while originally living in third,
Irony.
I've developed the kind of anxiety that does what it does and becomes amnesia.
I'm worried I won't reach where I want to go.
The path is fogged and my headlights don't work.
