Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

I haven't found it.

Before I simply was,
I resented it on some level,
but before there was something in myself
reassuring me that there was more.

Everything became a sum
calculated to the tenth of a cent in time, goods, effort, and return.
In ever diminishing return.
My bones continue to grind in thanotic anticipation
and as I peek one breath above, gasping,
I'm deluged in bullshit anew.

I remember feeling more. I remember words birthing,
and a bittersweet mosaic of colors and life.
Flavors and foulness.
Joy, and glib pacification of passion.

It was taken, some say lost, some say sold.
Vacant, absent, regardless.