I find no comfort in the adventure that is meant to deter my mind.
No advocacy in your words, whether we are met with Scylla or a merciful deity.
It's compressed at all angles around my drum, that permeates tragedy speedily in my 'cortex.
I am tired.
In wonder, at what enclosure laces around the vibrancy of the world and my distorted eye.
I cannot alleviate, what I don't know.
I am deprecation through my optimism.
I am sickly in my health.
I am floundering at what I imagine to feel.
You cannot whisk me up, I am too heavy, and emotionally elusive that I deceive myself into joy.
They say do so repetitiously, that the Jordan rivers will overwhelm you, and you will breathe stoically through your life.
That you will be one with the air, and be the breath for people to martyr you on.
Tell me, what if I cannot take it, and I cannot breathe.
For one cannot relieve itself- through the life it gives to another.
I am every low detriment of misunderstanding.
Make me less drowsy,
Make me less of what I know.
Make me less of what I am.
I stride through it, undeveloped as I am.
Why can't I take what I have?
What can't I claim what I am meant to feel?
Why can't I feel, what belongs to me?
Define it for me.
My clumsiness in the face of opposition,
My heart oozing in gratitude, yet a sunken ship.
C'est la vie.
Don't dare you say.
I try best not to chase difficulty, and If I approach it.
Tell me, why numbness bellows when I retire to sleep?
