in the splendour of everything colouring itself underneath my skin
standing in the middles of these puddles puddling themselves into congruent clarity teasing my mind- - -or is it my mind toying with it all.?. in the midst of space reliving itself inside my bones i am (un)harboured and so exposed in the mirror of the static i have swallowed. and get stuck in the trajectory of. in the present moment. the past flares itself up and shivers through the echo i know.
standing in the belly of the sun i am blinded and overheated with the notion of doing it all and the underestimation of fear that i gnaw on in a continuous manner. and i am bare and naked unabashed standing in front of .you. and i stare into my voice as i s[peak] from a space of deep.sight and feeling that is unintellectualised and needs not be intellectualised. and spits at the bitterness of the psychoanalytical .bubbles.[some.times i wish .you. would analyze...what is underneath yourskin...]...- floating- bubbles floating by through the atmosphere getting continuously more and more unbreathable between .you. and me. i see.
the visceral vulnerability brought forth in the eyes of your heart pulsating with the rhythm of what synchronises itself between the skin of .us. and i know the jump back. the hide and run. the fuck and done. game. and i want. i need. more than this self fulfilling prophecy. i know that game- i won it over a million times and more and my essence is sore from the rigidity this (pro)creates.as i stand
in the fork that's gutted out and i feel another smile peeling it.self upon the horison of me and i am caught in between like a tireswing rope entangle in tree limbs... . held. in the hesitation, in the situation.
stepping once. twice. back. and three times.
and i pulse.
i am nauseated.
in the calamactic confusion riding it's kite directly into the epicenter of me and my.self staring staring staring
in to the skin of the moon between my teeth and bleeding upon my tongue as i swallow the inquisition and all i want
all i want
all i want top do right now is up the fuck and walk away. turn away. as you push me. (you didn't need to. didn't need to /[pushpushpush]-and then pull me back back back into the backbone
i can always walk away.
(((do i want to)))...this. i do not know. do knot
i don't know. maybe i do.
what does freedom
taste like in you.
sometimes i think and i feel-and i may-know-i am not cut out for this. it is entirely excruciating for me sometimes when i walk this world, in this city, through this desert, so -hard-. for me to love this world. to see into the underneath and to deliver what i need to deliver in order to survive on this plane of existence...as i am churned and turned and fireworked into this impersonal and ten.times(maybe more)-removed-state of 'how' this world 'works'...and my ground feels shakey and my feet feel eviscerated. wherein i can taste the echo of where i have been. and i cannot deny the temptation to go back there again.
inside my eyes colours rhythmise themselves
and i don't want to
i don't want to
i see through.