the defection of the soul, nauseously quick

as far as the eye takes you
all there is to see are millions of shiny, sharp rocks
some make you stumble and misstep while others
seem to assist you in your driving quest forward

always forward. to go back is to die

to go back is to negate your progress and render you
new and slick with afterbirth.
keep moving, for if you stop you will
grow moldy and unrecognizable
then all you had will disappear like an aging magician performing a stale trick
sometimes it goes slowly, you barely notice the layers of yourself falling away
until there is dust in a small pile where once you stood -
other times it is immediate.
you were, then you were no longer.
people would say “ wasn’t that ------?”
but no one would remember.
we all need purpose, direction
a reason to be
you can go on for just so long
aimlessly floundering about
before you stop doing the doggie paddle
and your arms remain still
and you are unwilling or unable
to repeat the process once more
someone once told me that things always look better in the morning
i never believed that
things look the clearest in the dead of night
you see things as they truly are - naked, sometimes ugly and revealed
there are no lies in the middle of the night
come morning is when the lies begin
getting out of bed and trying to think up a reason to go out and sell yourself for a job
you say another day another dollar but that’s emotional suicide
you wear yourself down that way
then comes the need to justify where and who you are
more lies
it doesn’t stop until it is so dark you can barely see
your own hand in front of your face
then and only then can you be truthful enough with yourself and
about yourself
to try and make sense out of what you are doing
and be a participant in your life or
it will be nearly over and all you will be able to say is
i wish i had