my mood
has flatlined
to the point
i cannot tell
if the current
creativity has
me nearly content
or if i am so
concussed by a
year of failures
i cannot bother
with more than
simply showing up

i lost my place
in my own story
and i keep skipping
around to find
my bearings again
but nothing is
as i remember and
all the faces have
gone indistinct

if i can just shed
the final remnants
of this failing shell
i can find the stories
trapped in the caverns
of lavender storms