Each day is as disastrous as the next. <br />I spend my time looking up at ceilings, <br />looking up at the moving clouds. <br />I fiddle around my brain trying <br />to find an end to this crisis. <br />My life is war between <br />what to do and what not to do. <br />The do's become mundane, <br />the do's are just piling up like <br />a garbage heap of useless trinkets. <br />I have no where to put them put <br />in the landfill of my head. <br />It's full of uninspired babble <br />looking for an excuse to do nothing. <br />I'm a dancer without shoes attempting <br />to go through the motions while I repeatedly <br />stumble and fall as I forget why I get up. <br />This dancer is only searching for that <br />perfect performance that will keep me <br />inspired to wake up and feel purpose. <br />I can't help to feel purposeless because <br />without shoes I can't walk without pain. <br />The pain becomes blisters of an empty <br />existence that only persists because <br />I feel that one day there will be an end <br />to all of this crisis driven suffering. <br />Is it my middle age or is it all real? <br />I see cars driving and going to jobs <br />propelled to prevail in their search <br />for security and comfort. <br />I'm an old couch who's lost <br />all his ability to make one fall asleep. <br />I'm unrest and I am torture. <br />Lie awake, look up and find some new <br />imperfection in the ceiling and make <br />it a metaphor for how you're feeling.<br /><br />Theorem The Truth Serum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dancer-without-shoes/
