Low.
I feel low.
Should I be telling you this?
Would I appear weak and pathetic,
if this is how I started to talk about myself?
What if the next time
I tell you the same thing?
And you think ‘this again’?
It gets embarrassing.
I don’t know how people find new things to talk about.
My center doesn’t move.
It is there. Heavy.
Low. I feel low.
I wish it could be put in a smarter way
I imagine
being clever enough to write a story
where the character at the center feels low,
and I as an all-knowing narrator,
his creator
and redeemer,
expose the dark tunnel of his psyche,
and express what I see in that darkness -
the flame of anger,
the flood of pain.
But there is really no character.
It is just me.
It is just me.