Fatigue

It drifts...It turns blank....
It becomes overwhelmed with absurdities, serious thoughts, trivialities and emotions. Occasionally, it becomes the receptor of my blinking eyes, a true optic processor, sentimentally dry.

My mobility is reduced, my movements minimal. The movements that do occur are instinctually motivated, driven by short lived discomfort. I want to lay down and stare at the wall, analize it's lack of colour; the flaky paint detaching itself from it's intimate neighbour, the partition.

Suddenly, my patience diminishes and the anxiety increases. I close my eyes and try to escape the painful habit of being here in this fatigued body, yearning for some incomprehensible, maybe non-existent cacoon, that I know existed at some point in time, but without the knowledge of how to return to that vessel.

VM