Threshold (a poem)

White fabric hangs limp
from this hollow frame,
whisper of shifting satin
speaking darkest fears
while I haunt this space
between home and lost,
forming a well-worn path
underfoot, pacing back
and forth inside this
heavy, stifling dress.

Is that sunlight above,
glinting off autumn leaves,
or is it a few dim glimmers
playing on musty cobwebs?
Is that my sweet confection
left to molder and crumble,
or has mine already been
enjoyed in celebration?
Will I be carried in,
or must I stay inside?

(no subject)

I'm very tired today. Physically. And emotionally.

Depression creeps back in. Feeling very confined, very trapped, very alone. Kinda feeling like I should just throw in the towel on this day and go to bed. But it's too early for bed. I'll be all messed up tomorrow if I go to sleep now.

Felt like shopping today. Only went to one store, though, then couldn't muster the energy to go anywhere else.

Did a little writing tonight, one poem, not very good.

Waiting. Just trying to make the minutes pass. Feels like a waste, wasting my life away, wasting away, willing time to slip by. Time is a pain. Got plenty of time, I guess, but don't really want it. Wish I could sell some to people who need it, all those who never have enough, then just skip over it in my life, on to the next thing.

So tired.