My soul is a fly
and my brain is a spiders web
and I am caught up
in sticky thoughts of past and future 
because living in the present 
is impending doom, awaiting death 
entangled, unable to set myself free 

What is a flys purpose
but to be a pesky insect 
buzzing and harassing 
everyone else, going about their day
working diligently as ants
collecting
or bees
collecting 
productive, with purpose, for a cause, motivated 

My soul is just a mosquito
feeding off of their attention and affirmation 
no collective drive 
to fly by 
just lazily landing 
to feed and to rest
yet all the same restless
buzzing annoyingly through the air 

till trapped by death 
under a fly-swatter
or news paper 
or in this spiders web 
so that the spider may, ultimately 
fufill its purpose,
which is the same as yours but at least they created something artful along the way, 
or you can go about your day
and fufill yours 
but my souls purpose seems only to be that of an insects 
death