beyond repair
in the middle of the day i catch myself sinking into another quicksand-quicksilver thought, some vacuum or void some daydream, i know it has an expiration date and a zip code
but i shut it down here and now before i can descend into some internal conflict where i repeatedly ask myself, pointlessly, i know, whether complexity is infinite, whether a question with no answer can still be answered correctly,
whether everyone i love loves me because they choose to or because they feel like they should because they think it’s the right thing to do
whether everyone i love leaves me because they feel like they should or because i have driven them away, or whether i am beyond repair
if the world is beyond repair then there is no longer a point, i think, already too far into my rabbit-hole to reach up and out into the realm of undaydreaming unheeding of my own warnings already too full up with wanting to know what i really want