The ponds of one’s sameness / energies of no outlet

Stagnant and drifting

in the ponds of one’s sameness

where frames never shift

but shrink all the same;


tight round one’s neck and

one’s heart and


one’s thinking

lost in irrelevance & languidly foolish;


a layer tight blanket

tucking the chest and

disturbing what’s left of ubiquitous rest.

Sweet, what not,

mostly not

– not much remains;


no sparks but far days

as a week brings in time

a whole month’s heavy strife.

All these discordant energies

– up, then down –

then up and sideways and

then down again,


fluttering thoughts and actions

of restlessness brought.

I don’t know what I want or need anymore

(how many months have passed again?);

only left here with feelings of being

severed, singular, static and torn

apart by these

building energies of no outlet.

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