As if suspended in the air by a director’s “Cut!” are the balls you’ve been juggling. Far too many, you’re trailing; never once will you taste the carrot.
A ten-stack of bricks lay on your chest each morning.
A deja vu that won’t quit – you sit – in its unshakable daze. Or, in malaise, your most cherished designation. Inflation, or is it a staycation in a banana boat on the riviera.
Come as you are and come apart at the seams. Don’t worry, ’cause I’ll stitch you with my needle and thread.