I’m escaping something from within.
Shutting it out and casting it aside anyway I can.
It’s in the less subtle behavior of clicking again or sipping again
but it also happens in the moments where there is nothing else to shut it out
Turning on the music, or casting my focus to anything else
Everything else, but the hole within

The feeling that there is no middle, but only an end
This moment feels empty by itself
There is no joy, but
pleasure itself is the meekest feelings

I need purpose. I crave it without knowing what I crave.
Like a baby weeping until its unidentified need is quenched.
Perhaps as a true adolescent confined in adulthood, I want to break out.
Will my gnawing for more free me or just leave me emptier than before.

My life philosophy has become so thin,
I may break through the ice into the unforgiving water below.
Will life always feel like this,
and if it will does that mean that the only choice is to radically grow.
The idea of growth brings me joy,
but the practice fills me with the deep pain of inadequacy and the fear of the unknown.
Am I bound for greatness or am I bound to keep an illusion never filled.

Is change possible when I have no will.
I am Pinocchio,
a will-less boy willing for one – but with no powerful force to transform me.
I want, but have no structure to get past the wanting – I am flimsy,
only held up by my notions of obligation.
I fear there is no fire in me, only an open pit.

“Climb in” – never spoken.
I have no connection – because I cannot connect myself.
Frozen in deep waters, waiting for a global shift.
Shift – shift – shift, I am waiting

Someone holds a gun
but who fires it
Is it the mind – no
Is it the body – no or else only mechanistically
Rather, it is the soul – the feelings – the spark
That kills and that saves
Me