Typing -Hour 23

I don’t know who I am any more

Names mean nothing now

Words are just letters strewn into a blurry line

What is a poem?

Can I even write one at this point?

No. I am just typing sequentially right now.

I guess I am typing.

Maybe it is someone else.

I am not sure

The part of my brain

That is used to these things

Has taken charge now.

l cannot be held responsible.


I know, I am whining

Why not? Where am I?

I should write something profound

Something with deep meaning

Something with pizzazz

Instead, I shall type along randomly

Acting like I have some inkling

Of what the hell is going on.

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