Fervor friend.

Where did they go; those words I once knew? Etched into my brain like a totem, now they're rubbed off in verbatim. Lost intelligence gets stuck inside screens. Knocking on the glass, hoping to break out. Stuck; it's patience that I like and motivation to boot. Convenience takes the stage and there's nothing left to lose. Everything has been given up. Nothing has been gained. From underneath the keys and I hear the failed attempts to screen. Inaudible, mute. Like a death rattle but less concise. Flailing into oblivion faster than the last cigarette burns and you never even took a drag. You just wanted it to last, you said. But delaying the inevitable will cause you more grief than just letting it happen. It will always roll, so long as you keep the hill behind you. Never stop to turn around, never try to keep on the ground. If it floats, you can fly. If it hides, you can disappear. Some truce gets broke and some errands go unrun. Blatant attempts to procrastinate pay off sooner rather than later. Future proves all knowing. Present is an ignorant bliss. We're always looking at the clock, waiting for the next thing to start. Always praying for the simplicity to arrive without wading through the mud. You'll get dirty, I said. But you can rinse off in the end. There will always be a mountain to climb, like there's always more honey in the hive. There's always a dream to thrive, there's always time to arrive. Again, these sessions turn to drab, dribble, drabble, drib. Pitter patter, shit, and shutter. I'm giving on. There's not yet time again to regenerate the rehashed ramblings of incoherence. But there's ants in these fingers, just creeping to crawl out. There's hands in these ligaments, just waiting for sprawl out.

Yawn.
It's morning.