lay down your weary head and sleep. tonight is the night that the sleeping draft works its way through your veins, bringing you out of your waking troubles. (tomorrow is the day it will lift, leaving you too foggy to contemplate issues anew)
flutter through the days in a haze of consciousness, drifting through meetings on low-level unconsciousness. eyes unfocused, mind slipping; there’s some spell on you – you just don’t know how to lift it yet. think less, they tell you, but they never say how you are supposed to do this. go, step away from your computer and all the stimuli you’re connected to 24/7 –
they never taught you how to be silent though.
(it is their failing as teachers, but you wear it daily as uniform)
gather every thought, lay them before you in ink and pixels, in paint and whispery-pencil. pile them high, as though they were bricks. create a persona; then personae. tucked away behind the every-higher wall of thought, the rest of the world can’t get through to you – not unless they have an appointment, and a spot on a single-digit roster. stack them before you, hiding away bits and pieces of yourself so the world can only see what they want.
cement them together with more pixels still, impenetrable and inscrutable. catch each one as it falls into your lap; consider it golden opportunity. some bricks stand out more than others, and you let some fade to emphasise this.
the wall becomes higher still, isolating more and more. people flock to admiration, forgetting the person behind it. keep climbing to keep updated with it, keep from falling from it – leaning against it is fine, expected even.
(one day, demolition becomes both the only option and the most unacceptable option)