I talk; she speaks.
A disconnect from mind and voice.
Staring out through this shell,
Moving in an empty day.
Decisions made as I just watch
Helpless, trapped alone inside
If I call out, she won’t respond
There is no link to which we’re tied.
Instead I’m chained to her state
Leaving me to contemplate
Actions different from her own
Until once more I call my shell home.
Commuting down the silent streets
Headlights pass then darkness seeps.
While she slows down, I speed up.
Darkness greets forevermore.
That feeling when you are so tired that you struggle to separate reality from fiction in your mind is how this poem ended up being penned. When you consider options which you know you won’t take, but think about the consequences of those actions regardless. That struggle to concentre on the reality of your life, and the concrete-ness of what is around you, instead focusing on the tangents your mind leads you down, moving away from what is known, what is real, where your attention should lie.
That is where my mind was at on this Thursday evening, driving home. Working two jobs back to back, finishing assignments late the night before, and getting very little sleep is something I strongly advice against, but at the same time, not something I regret.
The strokes of the pen helped create this poem just as much as the stray thoughts. The illustrative way this was written down, just to write, to say, to create, became as much a part of the process as contemplating the words, allowing for experimentation with the handwriting, the typography and shadows, how the light fell on each letter.