Wake in dubious headspace
Wake in the chill,
Of one.
Minute quotients of existence
Excavate without prompt
The ignored rebellion lives, though
Mute it remains.
Give power to life
To time spent in service, in duty
In refuge.
In love.
Solitude, the pariah to the self
As known preferences clamor, consistently
Reasoning stands its ground, corrupted
Only slightly, by strong, "what if's"
As I have stated plainly to this self,
'Fuck' those doldrums, enough, to veto
The chatter of the body's lament...
In this now, this is my chosen 'order'.
And yes, I know, all too well, this method is Painstakingly chosen,
It does little to stem the flow of continued
Abrupt- disgust.
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