Slow motion
I am squeezing every arduous word onto the page.
I have been cocooned for a very long time now,
And I forgot what it felt like
To imagine.
I am a soul of creativity
Locked in a concrete tomb of repetition repetition repetition
Habit-forming repetition
My choices now are to resign
To repetition
Or to try to climb
Clumsily, awkwardly, painfully
To risk waxing melodramatic
To try foolishly...
Better a fool than another piece of concrete.
I live among monsters.
But it's not the monsters I'm afraid of
Not the shadows
Not even the scars
It's the thought of slowly forgetting
That anything better ever existed
That chills me to the core.
Of surrendering hope for practicality
Trading irreplaceable time for sensibility
Of waking up old, and creaking,
"But wait! I was going to..."
I am jumping
Because staying on the ledge
Is more frightening than the fall
I am in motion
Because staying still is cowardice
And hesitation is death.
I've hesitated long enough.
And now, as I dribble each word
I am alive.
Slow, clumsy, emerging
But alive.