Did I imprison myself in surrealism?

Something untouchable, that died away?

Objects clatter. Do thoughts make that same sound?

Am I in charge, can I take action, when things are done

And dusted? The past is a plague for the perfectionist.

Is it but my shame that revives my mistakes to drag me back into depression?

 

Is there such hostility in my own body against me?

Is it a kind of love that I cannot really see?

Am I reacting to warnings, reminders or sentimentalities?

Do I have the power to agree to a pain that tries to infiltrate me

From outside? Do I have a choice? What affects me or not?

Can I be free whilst I’m bedridden?

Rippl_Woman_Wearing_White_Hat_c._1901

“Woman Wearing White Hat” by József Rippl-Rónai (1861-1927)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: