What beautiful time
What sore, unexpected sight and sound
What an ironic meeting of minds
then eventually eyes
on an unassuming Wednesday in December
What troubling, compulsive imagination
obsession with potential
is seated on my shoulders
How confusing
and how hopeless the thought
that remains thought
And what relevant means of unspoken expression!
What other way to say?
What tail, the veiled magnetism
What relative syntax and emotion
This is fitting, seemingly fateful even
Yet, despite that
this is fruitless pretending
and as such it will remain

My skin, shoulders and forehead
vibrate in place
as thoughts of relation cross my mind

Passivity, neutrality, rationality
used to work to keep me sane
but have been, as of late, laid off
in influence of these aggressive,
opinionated,
economic hands and lips
that I find myself seasonally at odds with

I've come to resent spending my youth
staring at the back of student's heads
knowing their skull's restriction
I find it likely the root of this resentment
is an undeserving self honor
inappropriate for this economy's well being

I dare not interfere
just reemploy

It's time to make a move
It was so far, I could not write
Let it get better
Stay your hand

I keep getting this feeling
of relief, or hints of happiness
and it is all wrong
There is still blood and
pain to pay
I must make up time
I am guilty and sick
Listen to the true ill lyric in reminder

I am tired
Lying in bed alone though
is not the rest that heals
There is now time to waste
Don't **** it up.
That weight is too heavy

In place of these observations
I substitute anxious reflectio**n
and retrace the lines of I and o
and the waste time with which I am supplied
under a similar stress
my busy classmates are trained to fear the absence of
For without that fear and stress
there is eminent reason to fear
and stress
so I narrate this midspace
for?

I have no solid idea of where I stand in regards to the social bonds I've thus far formed. No conclusion I draw is indefinitely backed up and the more I think about the inconsistencies of my observations of others versus their actions thereafter, the more I am frustrated and pushed to understand and predict them. There is an invading paranoia swelling in my skull; I fear I am being lied to, and I harbor very little doubt that this is so. Disheartened, there is not much left to do besides either amputate these slippery bonds or perform surgery on the minds of others, coaxing the literal unbias I so crave from their auditory masks.
Do not **** with me, you machinations of society, my fuse it short.
What a puzzle, what a fruitless aim. I've been removed for such a time that I'm unsure whether these cogs deserve motion, or even feel righteous in their rotation. I deserve but one of three outcomes. That I might see the actual grinding and spark, that I might unbind the ties of this machine to my being, or that I might find some hopeless madness to consume my concern.

As winter stands,
animals move to sleep
and similarly I move
and try to burrow
Something of this must occur
Fruition in the cold
might stay my mind
from submission to psychotic ice
It's warm inside
I can't stand out here any longer
Let me in
Unlock and understand
so I might build a fire
and rest deep

Very much experience exists
in this impending summer season
The intangible vantage points
of ease and warmth
haunt this seemingly ever static perception
of bare trees
and bittersweet sights through snow

Accepted is this inevitability
without the cool head
with which that heat was and will be
By now I've surrounded myself
with those who are closer to I
than I am to them
This happens in intervals
and I am still ignorant
to which fate is worse

Lonely cryptic unforgettable actuality
the shore
or
the sea
this busy concerned reality
that governs current coping