over a year of waiting for the agony to takes its course the pacing in my room at two in the morning quick breaths toppling each other, never to catch up to my lungs i never got the chance to unknot— to replant my roots into someone new or into different floorboards yet i was too restless to flourish into what i assumed was supposed to be my "awakening" but see, my nerves were too messy and tangled and i was impatient so i let the wires undo themselves or should i say waited— because it never happened so more and more nerves connected and collided creating a construction of clumsiness and clustered words isolation was becoming me and i was becoming isolation.
from sitting in my room for far too long, i have cuts on my hands and scars on my mind too many anti-psychotics and psychedelics soon enough, i was melting into my office chair with sorrow sitting next to me, patting my back leaving burn marks on my upper right shoulder— they still ache time to time and if i was really up there, my heart would talk to me about the agony and how it's always picking pieces from my ribs and throat causing me to speak less and think more but she did say that it was passing, that i must be patient— that was seven months ago.
a week after that talk, i began traveling further passed that state trying to talk to agony itself i was so out of it my bones weren't bones and my feet were tingling, but i had to keep traveling. i was tired of waiting; i couldn't keep up with the pacing i was growing weak and i just wanted a break but, i never got to him, and i never got that break.
and that's why i have bags under my eyes because the sadness ran out of places to hide so it hid under the deprivation— agony was coming but it was just passing through.
this is unfinished, and does this even make sense?