Overcast, grayness sticks to the sky; white dirtied by the rain, lurking, threatening to burst.
Sun struggles to reappear.
I Know Why:
Heaped together strung like imperfectly corded beads, my days slip and scatter to the ground; tapping far off is the thought hidden that dispatches those rude awakenings that all is not well on the outside of the cocoon in which I have sequestered myself.
Never existed, except in geometry.
Disorder is the caveat that has to be simply accepted.
Slope downhill from here accelerated by lack of energy.