you wake up and realize that there is no passion. you're busy huffing and puffing up and down hills, past rows of houses and the little voice says so. over the piped-in music that's become the balm, the salve to all the insecurities and fear that keep you running in circles.

will it matter that your hands may not put catheters in? you can't be too proud of your stamina, when you indulge in a butt every now and then. you're feeling quite stuck. beaten down and smeared with the day's stupid remarks and chitchat. you're a hair's thickness from saying, "do you care about anyone but yourself?" but opt for the drone nodding of yes, yes, yes. you're a cry from the door, but bills keep you in check.

caged rabbit, waiting for the towel overhead. puncture my ears, but clean up your mess...white fur red...cat with brain peeping through, hook-em up now, discard later.

how do you start? where do you go? will it ever matter?
i don't know.