crisis
mid-semester, mid-major, mid-minor, it's all the same.
i had a dream. i had a plan. like a rug, it was pulled out from under me.
i did the dreaming. i did the pulling. i yanked my feet from their firm hold on the ground.
i did the changing. i did the running.
things fall apart. my centre no longer holds. the gyre of myself spins threateningly.
the circus animals revolt. the foul rag and boneshop of my heart lies empty.
where to run? where to hide?
it no longer matters. not when the words remain silent, the tears run dry.
the road less taken with blackened leaves. walking. traveling. writing.
sinking down, i breathe in those molding leaves, the dark smell of autumn, a reminder of the end.
i wonder if this is the smell i will always find, or if the paved path of choice has any leaves at all.
i had a dream. i had a plan. like a rug, it was pulled out from under me.
i did the dreaming. i did the pulling. i yanked my feet from their firm hold on the ground.
i did the changing. i did the running.
things fall apart. my centre no longer holds. the gyre of myself spins threateningly.
the circus animals revolt. the foul rag and boneshop of my heart lies empty.
where to run? where to hide?
it no longer matters. not when the words remain silent, the tears run dry.
the road less taken with blackened leaves. walking. traveling. writing.
sinking down, i breathe in those molding leaves, the dark smell of autumn, a reminder of the end.
i wonder if this is the smell i will always find, or if the paved path of choice has any leaves at all.
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