The pendulum swings,
Grey darkness in the hallway –
Remains of the day strewn on the table,
I am the steady pulse of my blood.
My skin is too hot,
My mind too full of everything.
Ears are ringing, in time with the words –
As I try to dig these things from within.
The days narrow into a tunnel,
Become this small moment in time.
Who am I, if not these words, these meanings?
The world carries on its spinning.
Times like this, in the grey darkness,
I fall away from myself –
With the pendulum swinging,
And blood pulsing against unwritten words.