Slow motion

I am squeezing every arduous word onto the page.

I have been cocooned for a very long time now,

And I forgot what it felt like

To imagine.

I am a soul of creativity

Locked in a concrete tomb of repetition repetition repetition

Habit-forming repetition

My choices now are to resign

To repetition

Or to try to climb

Clumsily, awkwardly, painfully

To risk waxing melodramatic

To try foolishly...

Better a fool than another piece of concrete.

I live among monsters.

But it's not the monsters I'm afraid of

Not the shadows

Not even the scars

It's the thought of slowly forgetting

That anything better ever existed

That chills me to the core.

Of surrendering hope for practicality

Trading irreplaceable time for sensibility

Of waking up old, and creaking,

"But wait! I was going to..."

I am jumping

Because staying on the ledge

Is more frightening than the fall

I am in motion

Because staying still is cowardice

And hesitation is death.

I've hesitated long enough.

And now, as I dribble each word

I am alive.

Slow, clumsy, emerging

But alive.