minor bouts of mania fun guy get things done depressed sit in dark room give me whatever I want clean the house contact reach out talkative grocery store line love me they all love me bulldoze you all
Is there meaning here? I stare into space oblivious to all but my own numbness, hoping for a call - a beckoning voice to draw me back from the edge of my self-imposed exile. Drop the feathery gauze from these old, battered lenses and push me if necessary out of the warm niche carved long ago in this mount of regret.
Last night, I dreamt I was a jigsaw puzzle – a background of deep, midnight blue, sprinkled with golden stars. Someone came along and broke me apart, my round edges curling up as they separated.
Thin fingers pierced the middle of each cardboard edge with green metal hooks, the kind used to hang Christmas bulbs. Each piece of me was then threaded and hung from the ceiling.
Soon, I found myself twisting and turning upon the whims of the air current – 500 paper flares, now a floating constellation.