Nothing seems right to write.
Everything is too heavy
or too light. The colours too dark
or too bright around the edges.
Everything seems wrong.
Some jokes are too crass. Others
too obvious. Or too obscure. I'm not sure
how to begin. Or where to end. Mired.
Tired between the two. Keeping busy
without a song.
Sadness sifts down around my ears.
Fears settle softly on my desk. My papers
covered in dust. My books no longer fussed
over or read. My head, my heart
so far apart.
Nothing is what it seems. Feel
the sunshine on my arms, its charms
stolen from long ago dreams. It seems
hard and harder to be alone. A stone
lies in my heart.
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