Each moment’s an agony:
Vague, indecisive, filled,
Like cotton in a wound
With self-abnegation.
My thoughts fester, without
Care, without direction—
A viscous ooze tucked
Within damp crevices.
This is not self-pity,
Nor bragging as complaint—
I live in the landscapes
Which surround me today.
Where I’ve come to stand
Is where I must begin.
(October 4, 2017)
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