day one hundred seventy-six: unchanging.

overwhelming fear
of beginning again
of starting anything
new
this rut
cut through the synapses
of my stimulated, juicy brain
waiting for a bridge
to be built
communication to begin again
there's a paralyzing fear of the new
and a sad nostalgic longing for the old
too bad i'll get neither
tied to this chair.

day one hundred sixty: i just listen.

to the rain

beating down my door

flooding into the open holes

in my mind

taking over my senses

wet, cold, shivering

i simply listen to the words

drowned out by the moisture

between my ears

my brain is flooded with your ideas

some would call my brain clean;

washed;

it's new

hope you're happy

i hope you're happy too

because now

all i can do

is mimic you

or drown trying to escape

the things you've made me think.