There Are Other Pages In The Sea

I’m starting to remember everything I wrote

& it sounds like what I’m writing

Surface level occurrences leave letters untyped

I have no good lines to cement in ink

No real lines

Fictitiously mining, digging for some real reasons

Blame it on the circumstances and the seasons

My justifications haven’t been enough this week

I’ve been chipping away slowly

Trying to get to the core of something bone-deep

Moments left uncapitalized

Polluted thoughts and diverted attention

Holding all the pieces of information in my head

Redundantly recycling recollections and reflections

Looking for the clear path and purpose

Clear to cloudy like windshield wipers on low speed in a rainstorm

I’m an open book with a few pages missing