Execution

I feel really small, and really really…alive.
And maybe there’s nothing to break here.
Maybe there’s only the ability to fly.
Or maybe I’m just full of maybes, indecisive,
in that annoying way that I’ve always hated.
sigh.

I remember when words made sense, but they don’t seem to fit right now.
And I don’t feel like I feel…..anything.
You know how you ask people how they’re feeling,
and sometimes they say, "I don’t know."
and you wonder how that could possibly make sense?
I think I get it now.
I don’t feel….anything.
I’m not overly happy, or unbearably sad,
I’m not ready to take a jackhammer to pretty things,
and I’m not anxious or worried or apprehensive.
I’m just kinda here.
And it kinda… sucks.

This entire entry was a paradox,
and I’m caught in the middle of the complex,
but very very shiny,
spiderweb.

Oh mellisonant thoughts that screech against my eardrum:
where are the feelings that devour my crystal world?
Maybe I should clean.

Goodnight.