ripped

rising fire in the pit of your stomach. no where for it to set. a frenzy of anticipated desire, this isn't excitement. a questionable notion turning the wheels within your mind and you begin to ponder ordinary times. analyzing everything, which was once so easy - could it all have been just a colorful dream, but now the color drips and it all looks sleazy. it bubbles up and you can feel it stain your clothes. a unreadable motion punching you in the stomach, swatting out those butterflies that you once housed and you think you'd feel empty but no you feel like lead, swim with the fishes and you'd be dead. a mask of charades has begun it's dance and you feel kind of antsy.. you can't get relaxed. you try your hardest to sleep it off but the tossing and turning keeps you awake and you stare at the sky searching for answers but it won't even rain, and the drought causes thunder to morph inside your mind and you get a crashing feeling, like a controlled junky you're not willingly to do just anything for a fix, you've got an understanding and a limit in your head but you press that limit, imaginary, of coarse. you see how much more you can squeeze out of the cloth and if you happen to reach just what you want will it be enough considered what you've just experienced, will you break down - rejoice or just feel a nauseous wave of glittery illness. choke, trip, and stumble.