I am a screen door in a tornado. Tied to an abandoned house. An enthusiastic tsunami , trampling the horizon from the ocean's mouth. I do it for love as the world drowns, and I'm unable to stay stable. The lighting with no sound, i stole the gravity from the underground. I am unfinished business. no screws to call loose. a conduit for fleeing marbles down a spiraling chute. My life is a loaded gun , but i'm too afraid to shoot.
I am a dirty soap box, stepping stone for those who are all talk. I'd throw rocks, but I've long since been cast. If i had a heart it would be made of stained glass. My thoughts are winds of pain, a whim's crow on a paint chipped window pane. Life hit me below the belt, i'm nuts. Mental illness sucks. I'm out of my own mind before my eyes are shut.
I am a quivering mass of panic. my blood is screaming murder, my smile calm as a hammock. Faking my way through the day i can't stand it. I mask every stabbing, painful jab of sadness , cause by every gasping breath i take on this planet. I go to the deep ends of the shallowest scenes, so that i can be seen as the flashes of lighting whose thoughts are not clean. My baggage is packed with wooden spoons and butter knives, fluttering to my own beat like a seizing butterfly. syncope at the lunch rush of my day job, almost got me laid off, but a faint whisper from an old demon i thought i paid off....there's no method to my mind, it's the shattered heart of chaos.
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