i woke up late
and i feel rushed,
but not in a real way, not like i need
to hurry through my routine,
though i guess one could say,
it might be helpful to have a routine
to begin with, but sometimes i like to pretend i do
i am the disembodied flame
written into the fields burnt,
but young,
as fecund, vibrant
organisms abound and surround
my decaying flesh
for all to see and understand
the passing of the torch,
the whispering of a dream
living in a made-up world
with fictional non-playable characters
filtering through with stock phrases and expressions
plastered over their faces,
pretending to be alive,
pretending to be something
Fred Aiken Writing 