I don’t even remember who wrote it
Just the words.
In the blur
I cannot feel the jealousy
Just the betrayal
I don’t feel their fists
I taste in the rage
The tension between entities
The vicious magnificence
a dryad cannot become lost in the forest
a druid feels at home in the depths
I draw my power from it.
I cannot feel the trivial as deeply anymore
I feel like a sailor letting go of a its moorings,
right before your eyes
things that used to matter, don’t.
and the boredom of everyday
pours in through the cracks
like some derogatory heretic
coughing out phthisis
all over a delusion that I tell myself:
‘it’ll get better.’
It doesn’t, it just has its moments.
Like some magenta lining
Practice makes perfect.
Stretching out time with the mementos of progress
And I learn to relinquish
Pillars of myself
In the delusion of one day being whole
Scattered into the architecture of the universe