Strive pt. 1

Like
a confused dog beneath a heavy blanket
thrashing excitedly
desperate to escape from confusing oppression
I reach out in every direction
splayed
(no, I said splayed)

could be the wrong metaphor
I've made mistakes before
big and small
never could tell the difference

grasping for meaning wherever it lives
down dark holes on the internet
in dusty tomes and silken robes
audio books and radio shows

offered an escape but unable to take it
have always had a problem with
suspension of disbelief
and so I prefer ex communication

the short game, as it were
handy with a putter
"better this than a cutter"
a haughty laugh at my own expense

texts sent in haste
abrupt apologies
attempts to save face
looking for, what was it again?

fifty lashes, but I'll do fifteen
before I decide that I've run out of steam
course correction, trade a guilty erection
for an aggressive regimen in pursuit of prime specimen

works for a while, maybe
the endorphins do their worst
but still
what for? I wasn't meant to run
I didn't dream of running
I dreamt of something more

words on a page
left behind by a cursor
like
bloody footprints from a mortally wounded sorcerer
cast lay hands all you want, buddy, it ain't helpin' nobody

I am meant to do something
but is that even true?
even if it is, what is the thing to do?
tell a story, spin a yarn
reach someone, connect to you

is it really a meaning if no one can parse it?
is it really a passion if you can't bring yourself to do it?
is it really this empty, this lonely, this dull?
if this is the first half, is the glass really half full?