When nothing happens I stumble in the space where the chemicals once lived.

A snow-blind wanderer without destination.

Frames flicker with faded hues.

I lost the context or pretend I once knew.

The begging remains a habit like a dry heave.

The desire vanished but the pattern remains as a phantom limb within the brain.

Nothing is as terrifying as this blank slate. This uncharted terrain.

My vitals dictate that i’m O.K

My visible successes tells the world who echo the message back to me wave after wave after wave without permission. Without any meaning.

I can’t find a deeper place.

I can’t shake this even state.

There are no peaks. No way to be awake.

I know how to say please and I know where to look, but now it’s through the glass.

I can barely even wave.

I experience this almost imperceptible death without a fight.

I’m scared but can’t show it.

I’m here, even though I don’t believe it..

With this pin-prick of light as my only guide, forever I continue.

There is no choice.



  • charlesbarrett

    Old patterns die hard. Great piece. Maybe your words can replace those old patterns and bring brighter hues to those old frames. They certainly painted a vivid picture for me. Thanks for sharing.

    • EnoBowie

      Thank for the kind words!. Its does feel good to do some writing again.

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