​This…
What the fuck is any of this?
An exerpt from a larger book
We’re but a chapter
Maybe two
We never read the beginning
We’ll never know the ending
Are the final pages even written
Does it get put down
Forgotten in a cluttered den
The point of the story
Never really known

All these words
I don’t know
If they are the things
I feel
Or the things I think
I should feel

The pendulum sways

One day I’m convinced
I feel these things
So deeply that
Every ounce of my soul
Shattered completely
Feeling too much

Another day
Is like looking through
A hundred feet of glass
I can see the things
I should be feeling
But all that’s there
I a mirage
Cold and distant
Instead of feeling
What I should

I read the things
I’ve written
Then drift away
Into my memories
And I’m either
Torn and broken
Crushed by my emotions
Or I’m distant
And detached
Empty with apathy

If all just depends
On which way
The pendulum sways