Happiness on lock down. Counting sheep that were never really there anyway, making up things to feel safe at night. A poison reality seeping in and out of closets and feasting on tidbits of information stored in the most unsecured places, but to move them would be a hassle for it would involve reinventing, reanalyzing.. And I really can’t afford to do that right now. The costly price of doing business. The over thinking experimental energy charging to and from, up and down, things unable to process suddenly become process able. Recycled minds disposing of their insecurities, landing on the skin of others, so that they can now carry the burden of whatever has got you tangled. Bulletproof junctions, not so safe. Minds on fire and there is no reason to put it out for the reframing of this candle set placement is bound to make any uneasy situation just as uneasy or even more so. Wandering.. wandering.. wandering.. open spaces begging for your presences; and your caving. The unsatisfactory reality of everything that has got your thinking aloud and your mouth is overflowing now with a possession of words, a colossal piece of work. On the verge of letting go and there is nothing picture perfect with this picture. A little slice of hope and you can only hope that this is going to leave a mark, cut you wide open and let people really get a good look at you and this and that and all the fragments. Fragments of an experience you’re not so willing to touch because the force might give you symptoms of uneasy, enjoyment, love?
No comments:
Post a Comment