Torpor rolls upon me in a fog,
settles like a sweat upon the skin,
hungers for the lungs to empty, breathe the darkness in.

Heavily, the day hangs, on a thread,
loaded on my shoulders hour by hour,
each unfolding moment holds me deep down in its power.

Torpor has us tight within its grasp,
studied in inaction day by day,
painted in a corner by the gifts we give away.

I find it hard to breathe,
I can't maintain the pace,
feels like I'm slowing irreversibly
and there's no knowing where this leads.

For torpor has us tight within its coils,
strangled in inaction day by day,
painted in a corner, all adrift we slip away.

Deceleration down to walking pace,
circling in search of a safe space.
I find it hard to speak,
the words remain unformed,
feels like I'm slowing imperceptibly
and there's no knowing where this ends,
no, there's no knowing where this ends.