Dissatisfaction sits in the pit of my stomach discontented and making its presence known
What is the purpose of being here if my existence only further adds to my confusion?
I can’t seem to hold a firm grasp on any one thing that can keep this overwhelming feeling at bay
For the tides rises and crashes against the shore repeatedly without the barricade of a sea breaker to ease its waves
This skin is not my own and this body belongs to someone else for what other reason could there be to feel as if my conscious is continuously throwing itself at the outline of my flesh?
Misconstrued are my actions that so many, who think they know me fluently, say are “greatly strange for someone of my demeanor and intellect”
**** your preconceived notions whilst I attempt to wrangle my inner poison ivy vines rapidly growing along my nerves
Causing an insatiable itching to wedge itself between my ribs where my fingers cannot reach due to an obvious situation barring such satisfaction called basic physical science  
Rather, the metaphorical relief of aforementioned irksome metaphorical foliage could not be so easily remedied by such a simple solution