As though a spectre unperceived, but ill hearted, gnaws at my being. The straightforward traverse of the day intermittently disrupted by the potholes of distraction.
Thrown off course so readily as to prevent the accomplishments set out by oneself. Minuscule advances, overshadowed by the force of a fluctuating focus, perpetually driving concentration further askew.
This fragmentary recourse seemed unwilling to wane, or even momentarily release its grip on purposefulness. So, floating between various states of un-beneficial uselessness; My futile attempts to steer towards aspiration, are undermined with breath taking speed.
The Progressive transformed to The Fruitless.
Nevertheless, self-flagellation will achieve naught, and will only open the door of another day to this probable menace. Instead it must be firmly bolted and sealed, so that it's reek will no longer infect, and it's reach will not touch.
Paradoxically, the city beckons; with interruptions of a varied hue. These are to be shared and embraced. Fresh must be the start, for the new day to flourish.
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