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because i just spiraled one hell of a 180 in a span of about five minutes. not sure why. if i could sleep it'd be okay, but i can't and it's too quiet. anyways, this is "neurotics" by philip larkin. he's an amazing poet. i wish ... hm. i just wish.
no one gives you a thought, as day by day
you drag your feet, clay-thick with misery.
none think how stalemate in you grinds away,
holding your spinning wheels an inch too high
to bite on earth. the mind, it's said, is free:
but not your minds. they, rusted stiff, admit
only what will accuse or horrify,
like slot-machines only bent pennies fit.
so year by year your tense unfinished faces
sink further from the light. no one pretends
to want to help you now. for interest passes
always towards the young and more insistent,
and skirts locked rooms where a hired darkness ends
your long defence against the non-existent.
:'-(
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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