Photo by Cristofer Jeschke on Unsplash

Idle, the hands rest on the sides,
in grasp of air, filling pockets
with sands of time and other
vagrants; I am finding a way
to turn the meaningless into
indecipherable monomania,
the repeating-repeating-re-
peating of a long-loved scotch,
and the quiet call of a morning
bird before it flies into glass;
What is life but to run forward
with your eyes closed, and
what is love but to lean in
with your eyes closed, and
feel the rush of twenty storeys
or more beneath your chin;
Stay awake now, the bus is
taking a while to drop its
numerous pilgrims but soon
enough you will be there;
I am afraid of running
out of meaning, my hands
returning to playdoh on
weekends, pink putty in
the head, a dearth of ideas
for a party long-departed,
the spirit of a party still
cleaning up the mess
left by two errant youths
in a bedroom cabinet,
I am worried that I am
actually the world’s most
boring person, who must take
to fiction, lengthy poems and
artsy websites to hide all this,
to hide, to hide; I sometimes
fear I’m losing the plot with
my line breaks, and my
almost-arbitrary use of
punctuation, as though
to say that these periods
no longer hold power
over me, my days
unbounded, limitless
and oh, so dreary.

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.

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