there once was

staring listlessly at a fresh pile of homework less than twenty cm away from me and just staring makes me feel incredulously tired and insipid despite not having done anything for the past one month or possibly more. but perhaps it is exactly because i have been distastefully unpurturbed about too many things for too long that i am left to be terrifyingly unmotivated now. i can't even distinguish the moment when j1 life had ended and when j2 life had begun. everything just happened, there was not anytime for emotions or sentimental care. sometimes, or rather, too many times this year, life feels very much like a chase for time; a race against it. or maybe, time has allowed such that we can only live in the present. no bargain for looking back; no space for even going one foot back into the past; no room for testing one foot into the future. seems to me that it's always just about the here and now and i hate that. i can hardly make anything out amidst this bustle, all i know is that there are lots of pent up unknown feelings and frustrations within me which i am trying to express as best as i can

clearly i have gone from doing what i am good at to being idealistic and finally unrealistic; delusional. there have been so many things i want to express. things have been accumulating within me but they can only be left in a dusty far corner of my being to fester as 'nagging inner feelings'. but i hate it all. i hate how words evade me. i hate how words run dry on me. i've ran out, i'm short of it all, i am emptied and evaporated of my last drop, like a cloth wrung dry before being put on a string so thin to dry out. there are so many things i would love to express but cannot, because i am limited and curb. i am hindered by myself and i am stuck. i am trapped and i've locked myself in and somewhere in the course of attempting to unlock and release myself, the key slipped between my fingers, like water upon water, into the sea, hidden under the seabed and wiped off of any traces that might leave hints of its location. how did that happen, i don't know; did i allow for it to happen, i don't know. it feels as though control is sliding off from of my hands. the further i get, the more i lose; the more of myself i lose. because there is only so much these hands can hold, and maybe i have to decide what is it i want in my palms. perhaps i can't have everything; i can't have it all figured out. but i'd very much love to scream and to scream into the void of the night to express all the frustration of feeling limited. i'd love to scream until my lungs feel deflated; until i expurgate my lungs of this heavy air sleeping pretty in the core of it, crowned in its full glory like a proud trophy on display. only it isn't anything to culminate glamour– if i could give it a face it would have on a dull look with sunken eyes and a sullen smile

these nights have been spent on praying that the right words would visit once more. when they come i'll know, because my chest will feel soothed, the teeth marks on my skin will ease into bareness