this city is in a valley and the wind doesn't blow here. dust settles and smog lingers and the skies hardly seem alive. i hardly feel alive tonight. i feel like a coal in the oven turned down too low, smoldering. like a goldfish in a too-small-bowl, i'm can't get any bigger until my world does.

it's a useless kind of angst. i'm not motivated, i'm not in despair, i'm just waiting for some fresh air to fan me to flame.

i'm aware that i'm mixing my metaphors. but the bowl and the oven, the bowl and the oven. they're the same and i feel in one or the other from moment to moment. neither is perfectly right. the goldfish is happy in its glass (presumably) and the coal needs someone else's hand to make it burn.

that's the problem. my hand is enough, but i need the spark. i need something to burn for-- i need something to bring me to light. then, i can manage it: spontaneous combustion.