A Lullaby

***this was turned into something much better (in the author's ever so humble opinion) and is posted as "Insomnia" on Jan. 12***

A Lullaby
a something by mj*

This is what I tell myself.

Staring at ceilings, my eyes glaze with thoughts of far away.

Either Everything means Everything, or Nothing means Anything.

These are just things to tell yourself at night, when you’re alone, when the world outside is no longer shouting, when the bedclothes refuse to offer comfort, when you can’t seem stop counting the ticks of the clock, every second marked off as if on a list. Your time is running out.

This is what I tell myself.

I don’t want to get me wrong. I want to give it shape, but the hands undo the other’s action.

This isn’t what it looks like, honest.

At times I find it rather funny. The ants that march in their place, that song that reminds me of the rain. The absurdity gathers in my mouth and I spit it out. It tastes bitter; it tastes sweet; it tastes like irony from a frantic dream. But my thoughts go back to nowhere.

This is what I tell myself.

If I remain true to this world, I shall be absolved. There is a problem though. I haven’t a thing to tell the world.

Either everything means everything or nothing means anything.

This isn’t a lullaby.

In fact, it isn’t very pretty. A false concept. This box of my potential. Wasted as I struggle with a paradox. Some misleading notion of redemption. More seconds, more checks.

This is what I tell myself.

This is what doesn’t work.

This is what has no shape.


*i'm not really sure what this is either. it was very late when i wrote this.