The Admission

The air was in good supply but I had no interest in breathing it,

none,

There was an abundance,

but I wanted nothing to do with it,

It was like the ice,

or the gas cans,

after Andrew,

Once we had them at our disposal,

they became less interesting,

Like the topic of this stream of consciousness,

I no longer say things for their novelty,

for there is no novelty left in what I say,

Save for that,

that right there,

That confession of the state of my disunion

and my disloyalty to even my own belief in suspension of disbelief