FlatLine

mercurial atrophy,

a sudden drop in passion;

laxative inaction transmuted from day to day,
week to week.

Weak knees and romantic emptiness
becomes concrete incompetence and endless banality.

You find yourself unable to see the hard lines
anymore.

The corners of polymorphous door-frames
overwhelm the senses with their meaninglessness
until the abundance of minutia become inconsequential in their Pynchon-esque heterogeneity.

There is so much white noise flooding your synapses
that each chemical misfire is an unsexy blank,

and the unthinkable occurs:

the meaningless becomes truly meaningless;
and you hope the wave will drown you quickly, and that the suffering is short,

and
that the flatline can still be final and purpose-laden,

and that the days wasted 
can add up to more than the sum of their
disparate
platitudinous components. 

Willie Watt
1.12.15

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