why to die where living is ritual or terror is inevitable? those slimy
dungeons filled with voices our allergies wheezing. it takes a person such by
its clutch where one resents the onslaught. we know it’s coming. we see its
vice. we try to somersault. by lethal assaults or vigil venom while the world
knows we’re delicate. if I befriend you, I give for its return, it’s impossible
to do this otherwise. the malaise is building. the discomfort hits home. again,
one is left with vagueness. why would I love you, for what have you given me,
while some things we dare not utter? maybe shocks or cosmic elevation or
confirmation that all is gray: the turquoise moon, the sunless sunshine those
sails humans speak about; or maybe foxes or irritability or pure confoundment.
maybe mother this different entity or something shivering in our faces. but
what have I given, in this web of tarantulas, where each door is plurality? one
says, by necessity, “I haven’t done much!” or one says, by anxiety, “He hasn’t
suffered enough!” those angles those
eyes those attitudes where one is seemingly compelled to seek solace. where he asks, “Is something wrong?” the
lady shifts and says, “Everything is perfect.” while both sit through something
more uneasy for one than the other. I remember a woman, so deeply psychological,
to sudden into different voices. it goes into woods or trenches or caves nor
does it relent. it’s unhelpful it explores discomfort it causes its schism.
such to pride fireworks where it spoke in excruciating violence while
intonation, face, and disposition altered into something demonic. a child
listening or responding while we don’t seek resolution. when I see it, I retreat,
because I, too, have that orientation. that becomes the secret. those
undergoing(s) get into us. without noticing, we find our behaviors shifting. by naturality or need to lash out or it
looks so familiar. it’s there in homes. it’s there with parents. it’s there
with children. we try desperately, if but to outwit ourselves, but an upsurge
is such an upheaval. “I do apologize. I try to be mindful. But I find myself
repeating those same behaviors.”
