An empty quill gathering dust. Not for lack of ink, but inspiration. Dying the slow death of suffocation via inattention. Stuck in the limbo between pragmatism and aspiration. When productivity isn't enough to keep lungs full. The sharpened point of Maslow's Pyramid, bright as a halo. Self-transcendence as the last inky smudge of the temperament inventory. Puncture wounds as fetters for presence and mindfulness. Every breath brought closer to being drowned to sleep.

10:50 a.m. - 2018-09-17