Pure Adulterated Crap

Here.

It strikes in a moment. And I’m spinning with chaos. Intermittently bothered; intermittently content.

And here she sits and wonders, arrested with unrest, it festers. She ponders the state of her life and her love and her evermore. 

And there.

What is it that one day separates the static from the extraordinary? The old present with absence of novelty, I feel stuck in the mud up to my knees. Otherwise free, bare-boned -- while planning is futile, I revile the lost.

I punish(ed) myself for unveiling and keeping secrets; always veracious, but hardly accurate -- never the right catch and release. I feel still so unfinished. Mud and muddled.

Here. Here I am:

I want to be and I don’t. I’m happy and I’m not. I’ll move and I won’t. My heart pulls and my brain ponders - my time plunders - and I wonder what to do as I sit at a crossroads – waiting and confused.

Where are you?