i love the static.
i forget to tell it that.
soft haze, thick foggy brain soup.
drinkable, swimmable, drownable.
i love the static.
amorphous blobs, dawning coveralls, bearing
wrenches, investigating my office-mind, fixing
dopamine receptors like air conditioning.
i love the static.
using up precious moments translating the secret
language my employed friends can’t speak, then
going scrolling while they dare to prattle.
i love the static.
every few months, a new explanation for all
things falls into my lap, a neat diagnosis no doctor will
assign me that finally justifies Why I Am Like That.
i love the static.
i am waiting, no idea for what, procrastinating
without a deadline, no rush, no stress, just
the right amount of eternal guilt.
i love the static.
i don’t miss the things i used to love.
safe in the void, where there is no waste of time.
to think, I used to pray for this: death without dying.
Caelyn G White
Caelyn White is a twenty-four-year-old playwright and poet based out of the Pacific Northwest. She was a semi-finalist in the Region Seven Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival One-Act Play Competition three years in a row and has been published in the literary magazines Manastash and Scribendi.