Straits

Another pseudo-stream-of-consciousness piece. Originally started with a very specific subject, but with added on feelings of the night.

If I am not damaged,
then why do I ache?
Why do I shiver?
Is my only solace
a broken liver?
Do my knees buckle
for no reason?
Is there no weight
on my shoulders?
I'm under the pressure
of a boulder,
with a touch of red
atop my knuckles
You see no hunch,
but my head is lowered
You've no idea
what I must move toward
One part fear
and one part elation
A colorful expanse
and impending deflation
Exhaust and energy
Rain and clouds
Support and revulsion
Certainty and doubt
How long must my head
ferment in this jar?
Why am I this way?
If I want peace,
Must I move far away?
Are my jackets wrinkled,
or are they strait?
I don't know if
I should be out and about
or if I should be locked away
I already feel trapped
yet also lost
If all I see is black,
how can I go astray?

Author's Note

Opinions welcome.