Adrift

Felix Flax

Writing warps the world around me.

Nothing is real, has ever been real,

but words create worlds and perception.

Someone will have to see me if I keep writing, right?

Or, if not see me, read me, read words I wrote and think about them,

and that's as much as I'm willing to ask for currently.

Just hope, help, a brighter future

They always say you have that as a student, a bright future, then you leave the safety of school

and the future's territory is vast and uncharted, here be dragons!

A graveyard of past time lurks behind you, lost time you can't return to.

Lost friendships from those schools that dissipate with the lack of a shared environment to solidify them.

You graduate and move back home, move backward in time yet still forwards, a treadmill of existing, or

a passenger seat view of the world, unself sustaining, moving at a fast pace I can't control.

Though my current life looks more like

unambiguous laziness, like an electric unicycle in the woods.

They say stopping and starting movement is actually good for the heart, comparing it to an engine,

and I hope stopping and starting studying works similarly. 

But my heart isn't an engine, its an empty room.

And I'm holding the door wide open, waiting for a party that will never show.

The world watches as I sell myself over and over, words on paper.

Waiting for somewhere to notice the turning, world's still turning, and decide,

this guy's worth stopping for, even if just for a moment.

Though time never stops, clocks tick continuously.

They still feel less real, the days of the week, the months of the year,

without a school calendar tying me to commitment, deadlines. 

No, now I float through the world, adrift, lost in a river current headed

towards unknown shores.