I hold a vase
with a wilting flower,
it is overflowing
with what could be
its hydration
but what once blossomed refuses
any more.
Another day passes,
a clock makes a cycle
and another clock rests,
frozen in time.
A whistling noise
fills the air
and I stop.
I drop the pencil from one hand
and the yoga mat from the other,
all I hold now is the vase
and all I remember
is when they told me
that I could do
anything
and obligated me to do
everything.
The lights dim
and the solace the room offers
is the only thing I can cope with,
the only thing I can be.