Heavy days, these,
The mountains blurry,
The river dry.
The songs sung,
The dance done.
Anxieties mount like a hill of rats,
You find yourself in a foreign bed,
Hot, damp, stuck.
Outside, time flies.
Outside, the chill descends.
You're in the valley of dark patterns,
Your confidence shot by the man with the gun.
Life is a thing to do.
Everyone is annoying.
Vanity and casual cruelty bloom.
Fondness turns to fury.
Heartbeats are too slow or fast,
Deep breaths not deep enough.
The voice in your head blabbers on.
You say you will, but you don't.
You say you won't, but you do.
Your touch has vanished,
You don't know where the ball will go.
There are no promises to keep,
No miles to go, no sleep.
The constrictor in the corner watches me,
Come, let's watch it too.