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SpiracleAlways looking for an exit. Assistance is weakness, let no one in. This head feels like a desecrated grave. My mood disallows refigurement, Unable to drag out of unutility. Search for motivation, submerged in brainsoup. The spiracles are sealed all movement; anguish. Lacking the strength to shun doubt. Fixed in a neurotic vice. Coherence absent, decipher this shamble. Uncover my quandary. Is this the drowning lesson? Will you pull me out? Buzzing behind unproductive slouching gaze, turn around the paralysed mindscope. Creativity struggles to seep out of inadequacy’s self-loathing doors. Inspiration waits to be called, But I have no voice now. Apathy holds me in its quiet comfort, and urges me to be nothing. |