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.

 

 


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