Processing In A Vacuum

July 9, 2010
So obliviously struck,
as if the sun didn't come up,
you sit there without a backrest
to support you. With your feet
on the ground you couldn't be
less present than a dry spot
in the sea. Look at the lines
on the palms of your hands.
The rise and fall of your chest
while you breathe has a time
stamp unknown to man. The
slightest swallow sounds like a
waterfall inside your head. So
incredibly numb, as if sand fell
on stone, you stand there with
a weight in your chin and
shoulders. Each step feels like
a 75 degree incline. Each
foot is apathetic. Hear each pace
echo with a solid uncertainty.
Your back was made to curve straight,
to an extent. So undeniably tired,
as if clouds could no longer contain
their emotions, you lie with a blanket
and no pillow. Curled in a corner of
a king-sized matterss, your head is
the only part uncovered. Feel how thin
the blanket is. You wish it was
thicker. It is transparent in color.
Go to sleep.

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