residual self

it's all moving faster than lightstreams
a clock regressive in its ticks

i look back on myself as if i were statues
yet the movements i make
exhibit stagnancy now
cyclical as stone
i have clouds in my judgements
it's a soup i dont own

in flavours named regular
i've concocted only bland
a cocoon that maroons me
where the salt tastes like sand

i'm tired though
of safety shaken on
i'm tired of living through performative action
regressed through authentication of my own conscience

was i every really there for myself
was i always on a stage?

how do i learn to accept what never was
or is