In the past, I’ve said some things, and perhaps in those moments, I meant them. I could not deny my impulsive nature, no matter how much I hate it. Still, my intentions were good.
Perfection, though ideal, is what holds me back. I believe it is the reason I have not put out any recent work.
All I can think of is this one thing. I know if I return to it, it will be difficult to escape. This invisible force that demands my attention, that commands more space than that of mortal man. It pulls at my inner being, settles into its corner, and replaces my inner voice.
I cannot look away. So it dances in the confidence of my eventual fall. Its seductive ways bloom like glorious rays that fall from heaven and rip into my soul.
And so I step away
I abandon my ideas– those great things that swam the fragmented oceans of my mind. And the momentum I balanced myself on, like waves rushing toward dry land, crashes from its high place and dies on impact.
Stranded, my body falls onto my twin-sized mattress like a fat sandbag. My eyes are carried, in trance, from image to image, app to message to image to app– again and again. How much time has passed is beyond me. Though a clock sits at the top of my phone screen, infinitely shifting forward, I take little notice of its swift escape.
Midnight returns, as does my habitual response to its arrival. Willpower has faded into the background, and hunger has risen in its place. 250 calories, 400, 600– regret. Goodnight.