Let her go, I said;
don't remember her perfume or the way
her lips kissed yours
or anything of the sort

that might bring you back to loving her.

Let her go;
don't expect her to follow you home
as much as you look over your shoulder,
that sixth sense telling you

she's there and waiting for your love.

Don't forget me,
or time or anything,
don't forget your medication
while I sit here spitting typos

into a keyboard ignorant and dim.

Sound the trumpet;
send the walls of Jericho tumbling down
a day late.
The heathens did see it coming

and left three days ago, you fools,
you arrogant fools.

He never loved you, no;
well, perhaps at the beginning,
until He saw that we are nothing
but insignificant little things

incapable of love, true love.

You say I don't know It,
that book, that wretched book;
I know enough.
I know enough of preacher games

and so much of
we-are-going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket.

Every one of us.

My world is speeding up. Everyday it gets closer and closer to some invisible end point. I just don't know what that end point looks like. It's scary. Like racing towards an edge and knowing you can't slow down. My heart speeds up. Kicking me in the lunges as I think about it.
  My schedule is always full. Exhaustion is my lurking roommate. I wake up just as tired as I was when I fell asleep. I want to name this feeling but I can't grasp the right words. So I Google hundreds of them. Hoping. Praying. That I'll find one that settles on my soul. So far? No luck. They all start to blur eventually. The A's and the Q's all look the same. The B's and the R's intertwine. My brain is a scattered mess of failed expectations and words I can't express to my full desire.

It starts with a Rhythm.
Fast,
Like running.
Like a Traumatizing event.
Like first breath,
After a long time without air.

Or slow,
like the relaxation after a good,
You know.

It's hardly a sound,
More a feeling.
The concept of things falling into place.

I could be better at keeping things together.

Then come the noise, the words,
the shouting and crying.
The singing,
Freewriting.
Thoughts that don't make sense don't follow a pattern don't have breaks or flow.

Words that define
Acknowledge
Make real
the World that we live in and the emotions that are,
Themselves,
Rhythm.