There is dust all over my thoughts!
Cobwebs too.
House cleaning required.
A fresh perspective required.
It’s my mind, and it runs the show.
The brain my personalized tool.
My body, my thoughts rooted in the person I am.
Job description ‘my life manager! A title given by default.
The theatre of my mind has gone no were.
The metaphor still blubbering, serving its good old friend “melancholy”,
It’s all very real,
On this sunless day, going down.
The goals are still there,
An endless process that’ never seems to reach a climax’.
A shifting horizon that brings me no satisfaction.
Birthing the mother of all productive emotions “frustration”
