Unironically Uninspired

Unironically uninspired, I drift through the grey, Floating through hours, A lone leaf on still water, Away from my life source, Insignificant and yet common, Waiting for the storm. There’s no fire in my chest, No spark, no fight, Just the dull hum of existence, A clock ticking in a quiet room. I breathe in the ordinary, Exhale the mundane. But then – the crash, the crack in the sky, the world splits open, and I am alive. In the chaos, I find colour. In the rubble, I build towers. When the earth trembles beneath me, I dance. Only in the crisis do I find myself whole. Unironically, I wait for the storm, for the flood, for the flame, so I can rise, so I can burn, so I can feel what it means to be alive. I’ll make waves. I’ll be noticed. I’ll be heard, listened to, acknowledged, remembered.