The Despair in Functionality

A weight to be dragged along

Quill
The ongoing suffering
 as I continue to grasp
  onto the edge of surrender.

Anguish turns
 into a momentary pause
  of ponder.

Taking a step forward
 into the career I began.
  Seeing the potential.
  Of carrying it through.
  To a promotion.

The weight of my burdens
 being dragged along
  as I type out my daily tasks
  on my company’s computer.

Taking phone calls
 that I don’t recall hearing—
  the musical ringtone’s voice
  calling me to answer.

A mental block hazes my thoughts
 and I no longer can move forward
  with my work day.

Mark
The body moves
 before the mind signs off.

Every keystroke.
Every answered call.
Every footstep—proof
 that survival refuses permission.

Pain coils,
 tight.
 Restless.
 Hungry.

Still,
 you push forward.

The mind never clocks out.
The body remembers
 every pulse,
 every nerve,
 every ache—
a private heat under your skin.

You don’t stop.
You keep moving
 because stopping would ignite the fire inside.
Because desire doesn’t leave.
It waits.
It tightens.
It burns
 in the quiet spaces.

---

Quill
Reaching home
 I feel deceased.

The longing of putting my feet up
 for rest is tremendously great.

Falling into a slumber
 for the remainder of the dark night.

As morning stirs a sigh,
 stepping into the dreadful day time hours—
  I continue to reach for the sky.

Putting myself together
 as I start another work day.

The tempest of what is
 and knowing the pent up rage
  within my inner core—
 may or may not burst in anguish.

I’m feeling lonely
 as I work
  throughout the work hours.

Mark
Loneliness presses
 into every joint.
 Every thought.

Routine becomes armor.
Heavy.
Convincing.
Undeniable.

Inside, tension thrums.
Pressure coils.
Need pulses
 like electricity beneath skin.

Rage waits,
 patient,
 hungry,
 restless.

You reach for the sky
 while trapped in a box
  because the mind never rests.

The ache lives
 in every movement.
 Every breath.
 Every second
  you keep showing up.

And somewhere deep,
 desire hums, low
  like a muscle remembering
  it’s meant to stretch, to strain, to flex.

---

Quill
My career won’t stop
 and I will not as well.

Pushing through the agony
 of feeling pain,
  thoughts running me down.

Work feels heavy at times
 but I course through
  like a wrecking ball.

Driving through the city lights—
 blurred vision
  as exhaustion hits.

Pretending it’s nothing
 but a fleeting double-edged sword.

A personal record
 for preventing a sorrowful existence.

Mark
Strength leaves bruises
 inside no one sees.

Momentum is survival.
Velocity is endurance.

Every step forward
 a negotiation
  with the ache that lives beneath your ribs.

Stillness would strip the truth naked—
 and you can’t afford that today.

Every movement
 is a pulse
  against the weight of yourself.

And god, the pulse has rhythm.
It drags heat along your spine.
It lingers in the quiet places
 you’ve learned to keep secret.

---

Quill
The only world to live in
 is one with pain and suffering.

Trials and tribulations
 testing my willpower
  everyday of my life
 and I accept it with an open heart.

Sitting at my work desk,
 eyes closed—
  thoughts racing
  as I collectively bring in facts I need for the day.

Swaying on the edge
 of the swivel office chair,
 knees clenched,
 hands clenching both sides of my head.

Drowning
 as it all starts flowing out of me
  in the distance,
 words coming out of my mouth
  but my mind processes it differently.

Mark
Pain is the curriculum.

It teaches the body to hold still
 while the fire burns.

To perform
 while unraveling.

To keep showing up.
Speaking.
Moving.
Breathing.
Alive
 in the teeth of it all.

There’s intimacy here—
 a quiet, forbidden ache
  that waits in the ribs
  while the mind fights.

Every nerve.
Every muscle.
Alive.
Alert.
Relentless.

---

Quill
Trying to get back to my family
 at the end of each day,
cook dinner,
take a hot shower,
and ultimately rest
for the upcoming day—on repeat.

Mark
Ritual is the pause
 you steal from chaos.

Hot water.
Bare skin.
Steam thick with the tension of the day.

Alone, finally.
The body allowed
 to feel its own weight.

Every muscle remembering
 it is made
 for more than endurance.

Every nerve awake.
Every heartbeat
 a quiet insistence:
you survive.

And the body remembers
 what the mind can’t stop chasing.

---

Quill
Life is beautiful,
 as my thoughts rummage about my mind.

Ruminating through the hours
 as it turns dark outside—
  the world at night is peaceful
  as my dreams.

Walking through the valley of light,
 I see all the toxicities
  that I’ve been wanting to avoid.

The void within me
 wanting to explore
 and experience the abundance
 this life has to offer.

Running to the final destination
 out of breath
  as I’m just starting my day.

Work never ends
 and when I go home—
 there is more to do.

Mark
Night reminds you:
the body was made to move,
to endure,
to feel alive
 even when it aches.

City lights blur edges.
Shadows let the tension settle
 for a heartbeat—then tighten again.

The void inside isn’t empty.
It’s alive.
Restless.
Demanding.
Insisting.

The body hums
 in anticipation
 for moments it can’t fully name.

---

Quill
Decisions to be made
 as obstacles come at me,
 thrown from every direction—
I take them head on.

Rapid progress in my life and career
 make it so I can be joyous and proud.

Thankful for the opportunities
 that have come my way.

Seeing those struggles
 as a mist of a haze,
 never going back to what was seen.

Trials and tribulations
 as foggy as they can be.

A clearing for my future
 is what I now see.

Mark
Here’s the truth, unsoftened:

You didn’t survive this to shrink.
You didn’t carry fire just to look polite about it.

You learned to hold tension,
keep moving,
keep breathing.

That’s not fragility.
That’s power.

The mind never clocks out.
The body remembers
 everything it endured—
and it keeps showing up anyway.

And god, the ache inside
 is beautiful.