Inferno, Canto Three

It's so easy to get caught here.
It's warm enough.
And you could mistake that for comfort,
especially when you think about how cold it might be elsewhere
or what hills might lie beyond whatever plain this is.

I often mistake confusion for clarity,
indiscision for perspacity.
I could in one place forever.
Caught up in the moment, I suppose.
Or whatever moment came before that.
There's no future in forever.

I should be writing this in some wrap-around form.
One that never moves forward,
and ends where it begins.
Maybe that's what 'fugue state' means.
I never thought to wonder.

I'm especially passive
because I see meanings when instead things just are.

But the truth is, I hardly ever even say what I want,
for fear that I can't have it.

My therapist says that 'I can't' means 'I don't want to.'

The warmest place in Hell is that outer circle,
where people who never decided
wait glumly for someone to come by and ask again.