The crescendo hits mighty, piercing through chemical aides made for the brain.
It is meant to warn, not stun.

Through hushed whispers, the news is spread.
First the emotions.
Gradually the joys of before lose effect.
Then the sensitivity.
All past remorse exponentially increases. The negatives of yesteryear burn brightly in lenses of the mind, magnified with pride.
Finally, the itch.
An addiction that once was fed slithers its way to peripherals....
forcing old wounds to open while pouring fresh salt over broken skin.
Desensitization to well wishes and hopes.
It's the start of another scream.

my i t c h

an irking feeling behind the eyes.
recall puzzle pieces that aren't quite right.
from a distance, they appear to form an ideal picture, on further inspection Piece A jabs at Piece B and Piece C seems to be forced.
it's invisible from afar.
undiscerning. easily overlooked, but still present.
the feeling continues past tea, past deep breaths, past peaceful walks.
it navigates across the mind making its way to the forefront, resting in between blinks, in between pulses.
perhaps not today, perhaps tomorrow.
tomorrow it will manifest.

A w a k e

Restlessness doesn't quite explain being awake.
Eyelids spring upon, eager to take in any light, searching for forms across the night glow.
Limbs are ready for action. They want to move. Hands want to grasp, legs want to dance, lips want to taste.
The mind isn't prepared to snooze. Hundreds of sparks showcasing great new colors. No droopy, sad colors, no!
Vibrant, dancing colors!
Ears are listening to creaks, small echoes, speeding cars, all the hustle during the early time.
This isn't restlessness. This is excitement.
This is happy possibilities and a glass half full; A temporary good perspective.

boom boom go

Collisions are worse the closer you are.
From a distance the clamor is experimental but up close it is quite deafening.
The pause to sound brings forth the grotesque.
The crunch. Everything snaps. The spurts of blood. It's like watching a ravenous painter.
There isn't peace, not until the very end.
The stillness after all the mess: after all the shards have settled from their pillage after the rivers have become drips, after the quakes are gone.
The quiet is the worst.
  After such a bang how do birds sing again?

My Locked House

Jaded beyond disbelief.
Navigating through an obstacle course blindfolded.
Hope as our compass, this map of love as an aide.
These twists and turns don't get easier. We stumble through phrases and emotions.
Split lips, bloody eyes.
Jagged walls break screens and glasses.
If only we had a light to guide us.
How long before our fire dies?

Sinner's Delight

Crisp images compose the reel.
Unfamiliar smiles followed by beer foam.
New experiences, new songs, new travels.
This is nice.
The delight ends there.
Temptation is a sweet drug with a bitter aftertaste.
First the butterflies, then the unease sets in.
This feels familiar. This is recent history.
A high-risk mind should stay away from forbidden trees.
Any hit can be the tipping point.
The trek up any mountain is beautiful but the fall down is deadly.
This was a sin.

Hide.

Back against the wall.
This corner is mine. This is my safety. Here is secure.
Pay no mind to the twitch. It continues every day.
It is just part of me now. Now, listen.
Each crank spurts out another thought, from one to the next. Each spewing fear, worry, pain, regret.
Gears will turn and start this war.
This wall is safe. Thoughts bounce off this wall. They don't return to me. They disappear. They don't ricochet, they fade.
Back against the wall for safety. The nightmares can't pull me here.

Carthartic Ramblings of a 1st Kind

This is not me.
This is not mine.
I am invading.
This reaction is a revolution. A revolt.
I am being pushed out. Pushed away.
A cleansing of the ground. A cleansing of the mind.
The rocket ships firing, the fireworks blasting, are signs of my invading presence.
I bring fear. I bring panic. I bring worry.
The sounds you hear are meant to scare you.
They also scare me.
I am invading. Let me spread.
Allow me to wipe it all for our Rebirth.

Detachment

Lack of focus to the outside realm.
Apathy.
Why? No desire, no anger, no smiles.
Awkward hugs are still there even after their body is gone. Lingering. Like memory foam of unwanted touch.
There isn't anything.
Running on empty. Each tank, once filled, now beeps empty.
If you're quiet, you can hear the beeps mimicking your heartbeat.
Long, high, desolate bridges. Remember, it is all empty.
These bridges lead to long, well-lit corridors.
A bleeding color of green on beige walls of an immense mansion.
Lack of focus to the outside realm.
Only this mansion. This lonely, quiet, haunted mansion.
Only you and It.