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Frozen still.

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.