To Trim Perceptions

My writing has changed over the past few years. It used to be sensuous, wistful, and almost somnambulatory. Now it’s fragmentary, shot, and shorted. I suppose it’s my mind that’s changed. It’s decayed—collapsed into a splatter of spasmodic cells, sporadically firing at the light of the tangible world. Words awake, from time to time, peeking above the dark foamy sea of consciousness, and dissolve soon afterward. No relations make themselves known.  

  Living like a ghost in a castle. Floating around. Up and down the stairs. Reading dusty books. Half listening to music. Staying silent. All day long. A whisper.