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Clockwork

You've been here before.

You stopped here when every whisper arced through your head like a gunshot.
Remember: wearing the sky as your crown and the wind as your cloak, chaos tied into streamers around your hands.

Fatigue is inertia, so you keep stumbling forwards.
It's tractable because it's different; it's different because it's moving. As your eyelids sink into the moss, you're floating out of yourself

and it makes you so very tired.

But sometimes it makes you want to sing.
It makes you want to reach into peoples' hearts and set them afire.

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