Last night I rolled over in bed and typed this into my phone. It's not a song, and I'm not astute enough to qualify it as poetry... I guess it could be called creative journalling. I think I might start posting some of these "stream of thought" type notes:
I thought I knew I what to do, but I don't. Fleeting moments of peace are now endangered in the thick cloud that sits like a sponge on my head, heavy and wet, soaking up focus and clarity. I thought I knew what to do, but I don't. I crane my consciousness to see what lies beyond, but it's muffled and dark. I can only see my feet, two ragged stubs jutting out below my kneecaps. I'm out of options. I put one in front of the other and pray there is no cliff.
