Arrows leading nowhere

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29/11/2016 A piece about a hunger for something different from myself and irritation at failing to produce

I want to open a new chapter of myself. 

This story I am telling

is very circular,

I feel like I am spinning in circles.

Maybe I keep telling myself it's a new day

but in fact 

it's just history repeating.  

 

There is this unscratchable itch

inside my head.

Behind my eyes my brain squirms,

like a toddler in bed

it tosses and turns.

I am hungry for expression,

for newness, originality,

and it must be mine,

all my own and no-one else's. 

 

...but what I have is a circular path,

a stone-walled passage,

constantly leading me back here 

to this grey matter,

indistinguishable from every other part

of this fucking merry-go-round.

 

 

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