detached...
Being neither here nor there
but scattered everywehere
as fragments fly by
of what was and what is... I sigh,
as I long for something solid and hopeful in what is to come.

distracted...
Jumping from subject to subject
searching to find but one object
that could keep my attention for a moment more.
And yet, before I can grasp or realize, it's gone like before.
Flitting, fleeting and forgotten.

It's but a chemical imbalance, they say.
Easily fixed by a pill a day.
And yet...
Is this something I will regret?
As somewhere in the newly found balance I lose more than intended.

And forget... what could it be?
Maybe in a faint moment of clarity,
I might remember briefly...
Me.