i keep feeling for the weak pulse that could throb with the heartbeat
at times, but soon it becomes a psychic assault, resonating through my
ears like a bell strong enough to break into a headache… i feel lazy in
the crazy way that people always understand negatively, it threatens the
self-worth, and makes for the uncomfortable conversation at one time or
another… the writing helps me manage the distracting havoc inside the
mind, and to recollect some sense of introspection, the coping mechanism
to making myself keep going through the worst of it… even as i feel the
shit, the fecal chill warps and tames as the fear rises beneath the
skin, and a morbid sense of humor betrays my decisions… mistakes happen,
but what then?… when there is a little warped in your soul, that you
cannot seem to control, and that skews the lines that contain the
response ability enough to notice where the risk is of wasting vital
attention… i feel scared sometimes to reach out, to evoke judgment of my
own actions, and to argue the point to clarity… the tragedy projects
with the slightest pensive gesture, and marks the un-matured reach of
other senses… breathing deep, to take in the air, and feeling the
awareness grow soft… sympathizing and collecting nostalgia, the moments
pass that that make one feel immune to the tainted reality that houses
all the inmates Here, but it never feels as though there is never really
time enough for correction… colliding like particles in the reactor,
the stage where the lighting is brightest, and where the heat can either
make you warm or burn your skin… we walk with the crutches we were
given from the beginning, but at some point even these break down,
meaning the need to find new and better crutches sooner than later…
threatened by my self desire while at the same time betrayed by the
obligations i almost literally signed up for while i had the
opportunity… stuck with a rebellious nervous twitch, that screams
anarchy at me all the time, and sends my limbs into spastic splays of
which no man would want to dare… i feel like a bad cliche…
Thanks, khet.
