Portland's Chaotic Muse

the air here smells like wet socks and regret. i’m drowning in layers of noise, trying to find a thread. some people say it’s okay to be unmoored. others whisper about hidden rivers beneath the concrete. i’ve seen a dog run wild through my yard, which i think is the only thing measuring time. safety is a myth here, yet i push forward as if it matters. this place pulls me somewhere i don’t remember, but i crave it. the rhythm is offbeat, unpredictable, like a record skipping on a roller skate. sometimes i just stare at a wall and pretend it’s not my face. the streets hum, but no one listens. i wonder if the coffee here is hot or cold, if the sky is blue or bruised. i’ll never know. the noise loops endlessly, and i’m stuck in between. maybe i need to find a way to stop, but i don’t have the courage. the only rule i follow is to wear what i wear, even if it’s a t-shirt that itches.

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