Forgive me.
The world is busy,
stormed with shards of uncertainty
that razor at the ropes of sanity,
till only frays remain, stumped at my thumb,
light in my grip.
Its times like these that I sink;
Kind faces become blurry blobs of expectation,
Waiting hands are impatient in their skin,
Opening and closing with the clasping closeness that feels choking.
I am smothered by the too much
and bury my head beneath the deluge.
The quagmire blots my ears,
Muffles the movements
All the sounds of all the somethings
going about the day.
In the ignorance I remain saved,
Every thought just about intelligible
Every feeling a negligible waver on this frequency.
Forgive me, hold me accountable for the hurt that I cause.
But the world is busy
And all I crave is quiet.
