The internal weight grows heavy, but does not disturb my peace. I live in willful prostration before life's cares. My resignation is that of the elderly. It is a peaceful contentment tainted with regretful desires. It is a familiar dissatisfaction with reality.
The world's colors are brilliant, but I cannot see them. They shimmer and gleam at the corner of my eyes but vanish when I turn my head. All that is before me is a deceptive gray glass. It separates me from the rainbow. It is impervious to my fists.
My claw marks strangely streak across society's surface. The noise of their passage screamed in the lonely cave, deafening in intensity. There is desperation beneath my fingernails, which are cracked by my shifting moods. The desire for euphoric oblivion drives my cloudy ambition.
The internal weight drags like an anchor, and my ship struggles to move. I must wait for the weather to change, for moods to pass before I can sail on. I must bail my boat and suffer the sun before the evening brings peace and beauty to the sensual seas.
Then will I breathe,
Spiritually.
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