I hate the way that line blinks, as if waiting impatiently for me to have something to write. Like a person tapping their leather bound foot or eyes trapped dully on to yours, pretending they can see more in you than brown yolk islands surrounded by that white ocean. Do they even look you in the eye anymore? There is never anything happening. No distraction. All I can think about is that troll that's stopping me from getting to that ever elusive green grass. There's power in numbers, so naturally I am weak. And tired. and lonely. (I don't really think about myself as a person anymore. I have no aspirations, or any feelings other than the rejection and sadness I've been enduring for years. I'm just a blob of space taking up the seconds of my life, moving forward without really going anywhere. Walking on the spot)