'I'm like a shark,' he said. 'If I stop moving, I'll die.'
but I've been quiet in the water for days and days
(for weeks and weeks)
and no one can see me breathe anymore
through the haze of my own sloth
the cacophony in my own mind
the sheer impenetrable baffled stressbubble that surrounds me
if I'm lucky they'll believe my radio silence stems from business
not from utter lack of anything to say
I am making no progress and I hate it
hate it enough to rage against myself endlessly
to shout and scream and rake nails down the inside of my own head
but not enough to fix it
not enough to make a change
to take the necessary steps towards resolution
towards an end to this deliberation
to do something instead of just sitting
and waiting
for the world to swallow me whole
the inside of my head is dangerous
mazelike, labyrinthine
I get lost there so often
and I don't really know how or why I am made of so little action
I like to think of myself as someone who leaps, who takes risks
someone capable of follow-through
but really, here I sit
and wait
wondering if, perhaps, it wouldn't be easier...
but of course I'm too addicted to adventure to ever actually want that
I just need to bring myself to seek it
again
