collect your fragments

Photo by Sonny Sixteen on Pexels

cold sweaty palms,
disordered detached feeling,
disoriented, I smell the pages
of a book I’ve been carrying around
for weeks, and I search for something
in the stream, listen for voices in the air
because there is a love in the silence,
there’s an indulgence to this landscape
of time, laid out before me
it’s a feeling I seem to have forgotten
sometimes a few words
can save a life
sometimes just the feeling of scratching
the pen across the page, sending ideas
to another space,
can silence the impending storm,
can bring placidity to your heart…
zoned-out is where I would like to be —
not agitated, not dispirited,
not in a turbulent toss of inattentive madness
sit quiet, you hear me?
sit quiet, and focus
on the sound your own cords make,
pretty, little soothing vibrations
to drown out the distrait patter of your heart,
tune the twisted forks and curves of your intra-biome,
look at your toes wiggle, they’re not so clammy after all
the fragmentation of attention is the real problem here
it’s something we, as a species must address…
I need to be one thing, for a long period of time
long enough to render myself lucid yet unconscious,
long enough to forget myself and my eternal woes,
I think it’s working
I think it’s starting to work…