My thoughts are long spindled strands of feelings that grew over time.
imagine not being able to have one thought without having two, three, or more popping up.
Thoughts of a pencil morph into images of clouds.
Clouds turn to rain,
rain turns to suicidal astronauts
Astronauts shapeshift with the flick of my mind and suddenly there are no thoughts at all.
until-
W h y  a r e  m y  t h o u g h t s  s o  l o u d
A megaphone is incomparable to my panic.
My words slur and scream out a force so manic.
My body kicks into survival mode.
Survival of the fittest?
No.
Surviving the Impish?
maybe.
both eyes shift and turn
now I'm frantic.
don't look at me.
are you laughing at me?
I can't stand it.
Can you hear me?
Is it me?