Sta.sh
What I need now is not a distraction
It’s action
Extraction
Ideas with traction
These worlds I created, they’re stagnant
They’re wilting
They’re nothing
They’re dying
I’ve failed and it kills me
My heart’s getting restless
My mind’s getting sick
Broken fingernails, bloodstains,
Just seeing what sticks
I know I’m not important
Just another disease
Just a fat splat of carbon
In the vast human seas
Used to think I was special
I thought I could achieve
Something good
Something brilliant
Something this world might need
But it all fell apart again
It all went ignored
“So we meet again, my old friend”
says the drawing board
Over and over
We search through the factual
The tactical
The practical
For something spectacular
Even if it is nothing but the hopeful flicker
That as my days grow shorter and my mind gets sicker
That maybe
Just maybe
I might have found something
Just one thing
Just ONE thing
Through all of this hunting
That proves I’m not worthless
That I can confirm that
ALL THIS MESS
...was worth it
And then near the end
It jolts back to the start
For now, for forever
It all falls apart
And I’m left here alone
As a heap of spare parts
Tired eyes, heavy hands,
And this weak, broken heart
And of all of my knowledge,
There is nothing to know
There’s no one to talk to
There’s nowhere to go
So I turn to my old friend
And tell it, “Hello.”
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Did you want to scope some pie on Sunday maybe.
You'll latch on to something. Inspiration is not a faucet you can turn on and off, as you know. More like a cloudburst that pops up unpredictably, and often inconveniently.
That aside, this is a lovely piece. The assonance of the phrasing juxtaposes the imagery in a really interesting way.