At a loss for words.
At a loss for everything resembling mental health and a feeling that I’m grounded in some honest to goodness reality.
I think reality is overrated. Of course I haven’t a clue what I’m talking about because I’ve never felt clear. And I am not talking about Scientology. I prefer to leave that bloody cult in the dustbin of history.
At a loss for the cries of silence permeating my soul like a rescue dog gone rogue.
I was in the wilderness when I first happened upon my inner child. A primeval relic who believed in doing whatever it takes to stay out of sight.
And it made all the sense in this invisible world when everything started to break down and you were on the other side of the opaque wall looking through me with your ray gun eyes and a Judgment at Nuremberg resolve that brings me to my knees to this very day.
Repeat this mantra thirty three times every hour on the hour and call me in the morning.
I’ll be the doctor who’s not really a doctor, but plays one on TV because that’s the only part I could find that would accept me for who I was and not for who I wanted to be.
You’re something else and I mean that with all of my lobster bisque heart. Of course my heart isn’t what it used to be. Not in these days of obsolescence and a civil disobedience I cannot quite wrap my head around.
I’m tired of being tired and sick of feeling unwell.
I am also sick and tired of calling up friends and unloading on them when I’m quite certain there’s no one they want to hear from less.
I made my bed up on the floor and now even that floor space is vanishing. I feel like I’m becoming invisible and even the ghosts no longer have any use for me.