SOL: Distant

The sickening moment of
It can’t be real, go back
The infinitesimal seconds between before and
After where everything is different
When it’s all so new that
You can’t even feel the hurt yet
The twenty-three seconds of suspense
Of self-induced purgatory, of serendipitous imbalance
Floating in a daze and staring in wonderment at
Karmic retribution, a vicious circle
The tricks a tired brain plays and
The drunk heavy tongue telling you it could have been worse
And you know it’s true but you still want
Seventy-five seconds of mourning
Or maybe twenty-four hours of loathing
Cursing the ill-fated luck that brought you
This lesson, imaging what you could have done differently until
It all blurs and you lose touch with reality
Again

3AM Thoughts // AKA “He Watches With Disdain As I Disappear Inside My Mind.”

MIND: Limits

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.

// Sylvia Plath