The Boulder
A boulder on my back and a pit in my stomach. Churning in the wee hours of the morning. Could I achieve a few more hours of busy, static sleep? Casual life of the unacceptable. Can I listen to your quiet voice among the brazen? Sweat brandished into the sheets. I fucking hate you with every fiber of my being. I want to destroy your feelings. Then I’d just be, or I’d just slip into the catacombs of emptiness. Behind a wall of distraction. The hurdle of inspiration seems to be getting beaten down. Over and over and over. Carrying the boulder, Until you are ready to let it fall.