Existence On Clearance.

Charlie J. Mitchell
2 min readNov 4, 2021


Another thousand words have followed
And I don’t feel any less tired
Any closer to my goals
Or any more love.
I feel like one of a million scales
On the back of the Ouroboros
I wanna say I’m Sisyphus
But getting older means getting wiser
And wisening up to the overwhelming fact
That I’m just an atom in the stone
With no conception of who’s pushing
Or vision of where we’re going
And somewhere deep inside
Buried in protons
I dream in poetry and narrative
I have a thousand ideas that I wanna share
And I wanna have time to hear yours
Can you imagine
If these electron bonds had formed on our terms?
But everything is a consequence of the reminder
That none of us have any control or agency
Except for the ones
Who dole out control and agency in just enough doses
To keep the bonds from breaking
I’m a brick wall with artificial intelligence
An imitation of a B-movie ripping off a Michael Bay film
I’m a drop of grease helping a cog turn a larger gear in a machine with no heart
I’m a hangnail with a soul
Dead skin sloughing off, fancying itself a shooting star
But every now and then, I have a chance to prove them wrong
To break the wall down
To prevent the robot revolution
To shout into the machine and hear the metal vibrate with my echo
To see myself as something more than what I know I must be
To push my blind hope and feed my meager ego
I see that chance every time I look at this keyboard
I feel it in every click of the button
Watch it unfold as the words sprawl across the screen
A scream builds in my chest, the words pull through my spirit
I can feel it bursting out of me
Like a newborn out of wedlock
Naive and hyperaware
My fingers dance, my vision blurs
As I pen something that lets the scream out
My vicinity, it fills with the sound
Each word reiterating the tax on my heart
My call to action, my anti-corporate slogan
My command and my question
The only thing I ask for
The only thing I have to believe, even if it’s just for this moment:

“I’m here!”

My chest is filled, my heart bump-bumping
My eyes are wet, my mind strained
As I let the weight of my creation fall onto the machine
And by the time those words
Have finished ringing out
Another thousand words have followed
And I don’t feel any less tired
Any closer to my goals
Or any more love.



Charlie J. Mitchell

A traveling writer from Austin, Texas. I write stories and poems.