Half-step

Where it was I shall be

Forever silent

though straining, struggling, pretending to give up, unfetter the will and let the impulse to say the way it was or is or could be run free, touch a remote sensor somewhere, somehow, sometime. Lines to tie me down for contemplation, lessen my isolation, achieve social integration, webbed existence, ticking the talk of no change other than place, speed and time. The identity you thought you had to build with skilled helpers finally let you back down to who you were, always, from the beginning, till the end, and the world did not change either. It simply spun, punning with itself, continental drift and metaphorical shift after shrift through levels of doubt; one point of certainty. The blind spot that is you and that you can never see but that sees the world as it is, helplessly, hopelessly. Then that was it. Then that was me.