coursing through your veins.
Numbers racing past your mind, the highway, blocked with traffic:
Hooting horns, names calling out for someone-anyone to hear, smog...fogging up your
rear-view mirror and although the express lane is always...always open, you find yourself trapped in the labyrinth of your thoughts.
And in an instant it's desolate-blank, bare, free- you are left alone and abandoned:
the roads vacant and yet while you want to continue on-you discover that you are stone.
Flushed-exposed,your body on display when you feel the hot flash run through you:
At your inability to form just one-one coherent thought. Your fingers shake, trembling from the twilight hidden beneath you. You start to notice your legs quiver, feet padding along the floor, fingernails chipped along the edges, Mom will surely scorn you for the broken paint, skin humming-a call ignored and
I can't breathe...
Suspended is one of my favorite words because it describes exactly how I feel
when I can't breathe.
When I can't think.
Or conceive a single thought, an idea, opinion, viewfeelingtheoryimpression-when words smash together and I don't know how to stop.
When my body is not my own and I am a call ignored,
left to ring until the battery is long ago dead and don't you tell me that it's not true.
That I can't feel that way-must not feel this way...
Because I hate being lied to.
I will be...I am and only will ever be:
My own hamartia.