something
is a hunch or a vacuum so filled by emptiness. where silence is comfort or harm
or split by uncertainty. a soul deals with chaos, it seems natural, some design
he never understands: its motive, its uncurable insistence, while non-reaction
is too a reaction. (one can’t worry. those days are unsung. where a soul spent rays
analyzing. as it wakens it’s there it doesn’t rest!) I imagine a woman one set
in her discernment, where smooth sails are most discomfiting; such a battle to
maintain such an understanding of normality, while essentially, “Normality are
those things I condone.” it becomes static as never a complaint while we sense
some things can’t be situated: those jazzy unthreading(s), those ways where
others are wrong, but what is it like to have those brains? such a reason for
behavior so much a conscienceness for too far an action—or needing something to
unravel so as to go with while saying, or breathing, “Go in that direction.”
it’s simultaneous or its unusually conscious while it spins by instinct—those
values seeming raw those deceptions overcooked as one it able to become a
gentle soul; our irreligious sciences, our irreligious morals, or our
non-supernatural ethics. so much distance between us the buildings are unsafe I
feel quite uneasy this way. an urge to whisper a need to show irritability but
no one quite cares about nonviolence. people need excitement or exhilaration so
poignant such prowess so torn by absoluteness. our caving hearts our harpoons
where one carried his whale to home. to fiddle with a feeling to fathom
uneasiness to watch one seeming like a riddle. a need to break its numbness to
make it fret or to increase the quality of one’s existence. so much concrete
where he believes it’s abstract while over there a woman is answering the call
of a kettle.
I
smoke a clove. I drink a Vizzy. I try to outwit an emotion. to no avail seated
in my box while most elements depend upon me: by sudden shifts or feeling
outdone while realizing even deceivers feel ousted. a tank of sediments three
inches of water or the pace of a turtle. if to offer warmth to be understanding
while discontentment seeps into consciousness. a soul to her screams a mother
to her negligence while to earn you, I must be excellent; little room for
humans or less of a touch for imperfect while nonetheless “I have a right to do
vicious things.” (it seems hectic while looking at a butterfly to drop a tear;
or touching a starfish to walk into self to witness deep blue or darkness; such
a problem in me so in needs of a solution while some pegs are here without
resolution; as insolvable or indelible where they get into flesh; such sickness
we withstand we push our walls it’s sure exhausting!) one feels unread or
unstable where most people just feel bored; as uneasy or untidy living
quarters. to ask you never cry, no, not a tear, for essence in some are evil;
they churn people, the disvalue people, they use or manipulate beyond
thresholds. (it was death into a shadow to realize something disputable: we
only manage trauma, the personality remains changed, the perception of like
behaviors makes us feel withdrawn. many want entrance, if but to hear it speak,
if but to redeem themselves. so slippery that last claim, but imagine a helper
uninvolved, one where such has never experienced riff, gut-terrors, or
childhood inconsistencies. indeed, such sour reflection so much as molestation
or rapes or out & out raw abuse; or textures made of make easiness or
fierce forgiveness where one’s mind forces emotion to receive a feeling it
isn’t prepared for. such calamity such to secern where one is proximity where
emotion is unsatisfied: to look at your face as to remember such disgusts,
where it was heaven for you to destroy parts of us.
