Going

It's always a lopsided argument between myself and I. I don't listen. I don't speak up.

Living peripherally. The edge is the only place I understand.

People wearing their lives like corsets. Tighter and tighter until their confinement becomes them.

Shorthand and long instigating that those ephemeral moments of happiness are all I am. Gone. And forgotten. Insignificant. But happiness means nothing to me. It's just another god that failed to listen.

Stark quotations from the base board to the ceiling. Time is linear, but memory curves. A snake in its basket dancing through the lid.

The air tiptoes around my halcyon isolation. Not waking me, but crawling inside what I dream.

There are no alternatives to consider. There were no choices. Only different routes to the same destination.