#( testing. )

Ykno how you simply exist but it takes just so much effort.

Every day. Every action. Every interaction.

Every aspect of simply living life

Requires some level of self-talk;

Some plan;

Some learned method to complete task;

Some means of motivation.

And how every day. Without fail.

There's an ache.

Of some sort.

In some place.

Some new symptom.

Some old one, recurring.

Some pill to remember;

Some health practice;

Some consciousness to simply moving.

I don't get up and do things.

I figure out how to get up.

Work out how to do things.

Set out an action plan for making it to the bathroom.

Calculate the state of my body in the first step I take.

I wonder, often if I'm honest, what life is like for the other side.

What it feels like to wake up and feel your body in presence only.

To decide to do something and do it - no extra steps.

No great formula for simply existing.

The advanced algebra of being alive.

                           It’s a sudden remark. A statement rather than a question really. A change of topic— just because. The constant back and forth banter had turned just a bit dull; bland. Not worth another moment's attention & so crimson hues abandoned them rather swiftly. instead, focusing upon the view coated in white outside. Cold bony fingers refuse to withdraw from the warmth emanating from the teacup clutched gently between her palms, settled delicately pon her dress. And really... It’s not a lie. The birds perched on the fragile branches of the tree rotting away alongside her; the cruel passage of time drags them all regardless of circumstances— were indeed pretty. Pretty & well... He must’ve picked up on her meaning, hadn’t he? yup her brother was always perceptive, though dense in some regards. But she doesn’t doubt that he knows what they mean. He must- it’s clear in his behavior.  these are the types of topics his mind doesn’t shy away from; innocence never turns a blind eye --- --- always so eager to drown in guilt & a sense of duties.                            (       somedays she -  almost  -   lets him  .        )

                                   Somedays she feels cruel, and somedays she felt kindness tinge her fingertips; as though all she touches transforms into glittering gold & of course— be preserved in eternity. but they never do... it’s a foolish notion to hold & dream about; nothing could be everlasting --- change is inevitable & so,  they soon corrode & darken & CRUMBLE INTO DUST. Forever forgotten, only to be remembered by her: if she bothers too that is. & so she continues. there’s a sick satisfaction in probing, in pushing him--- a glimpse into his future for what shall remain once she has been returned to where she came from; an evil voyeuristic plea resonates within her mind. a small ‘lemme see’  ‘lemme see’ that follows & echos with the urge to bully him--- it’s just harmless fun, right?    ahh --- aha. perhaps she’s being a tad bit too cruel. but that does nothing to deter her as more harmless words continue to spill from parted lips; venom was never present within them... it’s the receptor's interpretation & reaction that it all hangs upon.  “Do you believe them to be worth all the admiration & praise they receive?”

                                 &  Today she feels cruel. 

                                                 The poems they wrote, the songs they sang about freedom and some false childish daydream of escaping fate — laced with hopes of a higher purpose. The world always operates in such a blind manner; refusing to acknowledge what’s in front & forever casting their eyes towards the suns of tomorrow. Neglecting the today & now for the sake of weakly bound together morals; what was the point of something better when they had ‘now’ thats deteriorating right in front of them. but... that part of humanity & the people was beautiful too. a conviction strong enough too actually change something or blindly await its demise. well, she was simply musing... it’s not exactly good to generalize now, is it?  no. it limits the mind too much.  “  you know what I believe ---?   ” a sing-song voice rings out answering her own question, not at all expecting or awaiting him to respond; the extended silences measured by her impatient temperament was answer enough... besides it was something akin to a rhetorical question anyway.   

               (        briefly, does she wonder if it’s her cynicism’s silent acceptance                        that leads her to torment her kin or some long-forgotten cord that                        begs to strike a nerve & unsettle ------    aha.   whatever it may be,                        she doesn’t actually enjoy glaze that paints over his hues.  perhaps                        it        was        time      to          stop         this       now---       !      )