THE UPWARD SPIRAL

Almost makes you feel 

sick now

to keep doing 

slightly elevated
versions
of the same old things

that used 

to excite you.

You get vertigo

and make some puny excuse

and have to leave the room

after grappling

with the exasperating 

sensation—of trying to keep

your eyes 

on the only thing inside
that's still, while 

all that cartoon
scenery around you
keeps moving.

You can now suppose—
with your eyes closed

that freedom 

isn't a thing

or even a place—
it's just

the most frictionless
motion you can make,

and that
chasing after

ideals—means

you'll always be

running

around in a circle—

but

it's still considered

progress

as long as
you find yourself

never running

into parallel
predicaments.