Tense muscles, on edge
Sparks of painful tension shoot down my arms
My neck compresses, shrinking the space between my head and shoulder, so tight you cannot pull them apart
Arcs of fiery pain radiate from the base of my neck out toward my shoulders and mid back, where a dull ache of disappointment, the weight of the never ending struggle, circles my midsection and crushes any vestiges of creativity brewing in my belly.
My hips, oh my hips, feel like an iron rod is anchoring them, with rusted ends that limit mobility and leave me locked in this place of torment.
In the night, the joints in my legs join the chorus, waking me with their inability to move us forward, with my knees throbbing and pinching as I try to find a comfortable position in my bed.
Which brings us to my mind, which is racing in the way my legs no longer can. It runs ahead of me, pointing along the way to all things we haven’t done, need to do, the people who are counting on us, the people who are judging us or are disappointed, the looming disaster, the impending failure, the scrolling to-do list that has more needed actions than hours in a robot’s lifetime. And it is so dark.
— slowjamr
Sparks of painful tension shoot down my arms
My neck compresses, shrinking the space between my head and shoulder, so tight you cannot pull them apart
Arcs of fiery pain radiate from the base of my neck out toward my shoulders and mid back, where a dull ache of disappointment, the weight of the never ending struggle, circles my midsection and crushes any vestiges of creativity brewing in my belly.
My hips, oh my hips, feel like an iron rod is anchoring them, with rusted ends that limit mobility and leave me locked in this place of torment.
In the night, the joints in my legs join the chorus, waking me with their inability to move us forward, with my knees throbbing and pinching as I try to find a comfortable position in my bed.
Which brings us to my mind, which is racing in the way my legs no longer can. It runs ahead of me, pointing along the way to all things we haven’t done, need to do, the people who are counting on us, the people who are judging us or are disappointed, the looming disaster, the impending failure, the scrolling to-do list that has more needed actions than hours in a robot’s lifetime. And it is so dark.
— slowjamr
Wow. An onslaught of pain. Yet so lyrical. I like the way the last sentence is short, like the first sentence. (Macoff)
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