(92) waiting for signs of life

image courtesy of an unknown pinterest artist, (based off another work by Andrea Galad) it's been several weeks since i've been able to breathe words upon a page of my own. this paralysis that's taken ahold of me feels an intoxicating mix of indulgence, insurmountable pressure, and pointlessness all at once. a pile-on of emotions, encasing every thought, no matter how fleeting, in layers and layers of wrapping that increasingly binds my soul. i can faintly sense it, deep inside, straining. writhing desperately against the ever-tightening pressure that pushes in from every angle, every wrapped layer growing tighter and tighter as her cry—no, even the ability to cry itself—grows weaker. circled by chains words that reject the notion of impermanence itself, and consequentially grow heavier and heavier by the day. the thoughts, they chatter, the same 5 echoed sounds: "what did you do today?" i... waited. a free afternoon, writhe with possibilities that once sparked life within me—writing,…