Stagnant

There is a point where life becomes stagnant.
Like when something burns on the stove;
the bitter smell lingers on your clothes
your skin
your hair.

I long for that rush of blood to my fingertips
that new excitement.
To discover some truth
that was hidden in the seams;
in the corners of reality.

There is something hidden there
in those dark places.
There is something behind
the veil that everyone talks about.
What if I can't even find the veil?

Satisfacton is bitter
like the smell of the smoke.
It lasts for what feels like one hundred years
and wears off in ten
and is gone for a thousand.

And I continue to search.
And I know the truth
I know the veil is there
but I want to touch it
with my fingertips.