For someone who told me to start writing again....

waiting, always waiting, there's dissidence running through my veins, an atavistic need to buck, to burn, to howl into face of systemic maddness, yet I have no target, no emeny other than myself, this is why dogs chase their tails, this is why I wait, withdrawn from social encounters polluting my body to bend my vision in this stasis of anxiety and want and I fear, for my life to have meaning, I must find this shadowy antagonist, this elusive modern foe in order to function, to breathe, to move past this evolutionary boredom