That which was necessary for survival
Too much of a good thing
As I cross over
time is but an illogical concept
for the moments that never pass away
Streaking down tensed roots
and tendrils of blood pumping
intoxicated with oxygen
from just a spark
a demonic introduction to my future
what is there to trust
when your brain and body fails
and reality shatters into
I’m going to get some help; it’s tough though. All I see is fear of the next attack, of forced ignorance and indulgence in scripted realities. My escape now my warden, trapped behind the prison of my own failings, of neglect and misunderstanding of my grasp and footing on self-control.
I’m lost now, trekking through the motions of each day, but with each distraction falling by the wayside, it’s getting tougher not to submerge my consciousness, conscientiousness even, in sweet nectars and mists, in rolling waves of quicksand.