I used to sharpen sentences
till they cut me back,
Letters lined like soldiers,
every thought intact.
Ideas show up late like they
forgot why they’re there.
Brain on a swivel,
neck got a twitch,
Every plan halfway
flips when it smells like a pitch.
I don’t stall, I spiral —
that’s a different delay,
Run laps in my head
just to stand in one place.
Focus fractured,
glass-clock face,
Hands move forward
but they lie about pace.
Minutes talk slick,
seconds throw shade,
Hours sit back like,
“Don’t look at me.”
Voltage rain, fluorescent nerves,
Every shower electric,
prose skimmed to blurbs.
Too much shimmer
for a quiet room,
Too much noise
for a thought to bloom.
I used to write futures,
Now I edit the static.
Used to dream in widescreen,
Now it’s cropped and erratic.
Motivation rare —
like a white dry cleaner,
Its a stain on pattern,
Yeah, somethin’s misaligned here.
Mind still movin
but it don’t dance right,
More like traffic
arguing with red lights.
Swervin through lanes
that don’t technically exist,
Blink twice —
miss whole exits.
Thoughts do donuts
in an empty lot,
Burnin rubber
but I ain’t goin far.
Skippin then trippin
over almost-ideas,
Every answer dressed
like a question in drag.
I want peace but it bores me quick,
Silence feels loud
when you’re used to the hiss.
Comfort got a taste
like microwave meals,
Fills you up
but it ain’t real.
Neighborhood neat,
same porch light glow,
Same conversations
nobody knows.
Dissatisfied in climate control,
Curtains twitch
when the mail truck rolls.
I used to write futures,
Now I audit the damage.
Used to see clean lines,
Now it’s all fine print panic.
Motivation rare —
like a white dry cleaner,
You don’t point it out,
you just feel somethin ain’t normal here.
I’m not broken —
I’m bent with memory.
Not empty —
just crowded improperly.
Too many tabs open,
none of ‘em load,
Cursor blinkin like,
“Man, you already know.”
Yeah… I still think.
I still see.
I just don’t arrive where I leave.
Used to trust the spark,
now I question the flame,
Is it lightin the way
or just burnin the same?
Every fix feels temporary,
duct-taped resolve,
Holdin shape long enough
to say it evolved.
I don’t miss the past —
I miss the traction,
When effort equaled forward reaction.
Now it’s motion without displacement,
Gym treadmill life,
same-view cadence.
Still here, still aware,
still sharp when it counts,
Still carry whole worlds
in unmarked amounts.
Just learnin the math
of diminished returns,
How to sit with the heat
instead of chasing the burn.
I used to write futures,
Now I map the interference.
Still a thinker —
just thinkin in different dimensions.
Motivation rare —
like a white dry cleaner,
If you know, you know —
yeah, the pattern don’t repeat here.
Yeah.
Still here.