Wednesday, June 20, 2012


Stagnation,
her life is stale.
Foul from not moving.  
She’s killed her desire,
named it an irrational appetite.

Marked by dull uniformity
her days are full of
wearisome constancy.
She exists in a world
she us not aware of.

Her volatile spirit
is covered with a thick
blanket of ordinary
and she no longer strives
to kick free of the covers.

She’s reached the end of
the road without realizing.
Or without caring.
And it only takes
one more step.

Forward or back.