A short piece of prose, or something.
by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
You get so up in your head that you want to flash back to your BMX with the two pegs to ride down the street and back as fast as you can.
Weeks go by. Years go by.
You get so far into your projections. You want to change.
Years go by. Decades go by.
You see your family the same but they’ve all changed but they haven’t stayed the same. You make the same mistakes but with bigger consequences. All around you the t-shirts change, the science changes, sensitivity changes but it’s all still the same.
The body ages but the mind grows chaotic: A frantic camper in the rain racing to drive down stakes into mud. Stuck to stories growing mold, fuzzy but always staying the same.
The sandman doesn’t sprinkle you with dust. St. Nick can’t give you what you want. Christ could be relatable if only he’d made mistakes. You bought the world’s spirits, elixirs and potions but snake oils only erase time for nothing in return. The tooth fairy took all your teeth but I think she also has your innocence, and you never saw a dime.
Too many cooks in the kitchen spoil the soup. Too many voices in your head spoil the creativity. You can spend time but you can never buy it.
The only option is to drive down stakes into moments you never want to let slip.