Morning House and other exhaustions

It might be the coffee, it might be the cigarettes, it might be the gravy from a late breakfast.
Whatever the case I'm experiencing something of an energetic crash.

Once I was this idea, this notion of something so special and particular.
Now I find myself to be so inauspicious.
Perhaps its simply the resulting sentiment of a draining weekend full of rain and stress.
Albeit there has been sun, beautiful glorious brightness.
Somehow it has failed to seep into me, to get past the layers upon layers of built up lassitude.

I'm slightly afraid of returning to that dark and lonely place.
There are so many quiet, calm dangers.
So many insidious threats and charming ills.

A friend once commanded me, "never lose your light".
I want so badly to find some sort of assurance of this for myself.
Still I meet with a moderate sense of pointlessness.
Everyday is like trying to run on a beach.
It seems like a lovely idea when imagined but once my feet hit the sand every stride feels so heavy and weighted, so much exertion for such meager return.

I'm pressing on determined to meet with some sort of zen.
However I must not pretend it will simply come to me.
I must seek it out and pursue it with what little strength I have.

But it is so very, very little.