i think 10:52 pm

my life is incredibly dull. this is one thing i am absolutely sure of. 

many days i spend reading and smoking while pacing anxiously around my apartment. i stare out the windows. go up on to the roof. sometimes i catch the bus somewhere or walk around for a while, but it is always done with this sense of failed urgency. like i want there to be things i have to do, but there are none. like i have all the impetus i can muster, but i am sleeping in a box instead of doing something with it. 

it's fucked up. really. 

hate it sometimes, love it always, right?

i think 10:52 pm

hit repeat and

  keep forcing the same sounds

       out of my mouth-

no ideas arrive

  as the string dangles

something lively just above my head

i hold on and

  walk it across towns

wrap it around mailboxes and doorknobs

hide knots and tangles in

    alleys and emails

cover it with paint and 

   magazine clippings and

              call it art

double-loop it to

  my shoelaces and 

wear it to sleep around my kneck-

give it to the sunshine or

   keep it on scratch paper

despite what i know will happen

despite not giving-in to

  disappointment when it snaps

(at least i'm still intact)

it's just:

  being tied-up can only 

    entertain for so long