the things i wished to do, i no longer care for
the places i wanted to travel, i can’t see as reasonable any more
is it because the covid numbers are spiking up?
or the doors which refuse me by slamming shut?

i wanna cry but don’t know why
i’m blanked in space
trying to rectify my face
i’m feeling numb, sad, and displaced
feeling alone in a ‘home’ that does not belong to me
wishing to paint with lens carefully and responsibly

while, cutting off those thrills which made it easy on my heart
i rather now be torn apart
by the very thing that’s eating me inside
it’s unnamed, unable to be framed, and thrives by the constant rain
that is to say : my crying tears are attempting to unmask my fears

although: stuck in a rut of staggering associations
befuddled by contradictory operations
seeking for a friend, but instead suddenly briefed by an online stranger that this too will soon end

without a sight to see what’s really wrong
or a voice to sing in harmonic song
having the very least, while the beast inside still demands a feast!
consuming everything at the dinner table
so that the unbelievable can be told as a fable

“did you see them eating all that cake? filling their stomach like algae would a lake! they probably wouldn’t feel that way – if they were the ones who had to make, all of which would soon be left to take!”

but: it’s a lot different when you’re behind an emotional wheel seeking to safely heal
& when the transportation to feel is left to squeal

if grief had a thief, would it take like a lake? or would it restore in its proper place : salty to fresh waters which trace back to grace?