A happening ceases to be happening
and just is.
As if subconsciously,
deliberation becomes the same as breathing
blinking, equilibrium, panic,
and then all at once,
All become impetuous.
Turn into some twist of fate,
or some happenstance;
it doesn't matter which.
All that matters is the pulsing dilation of the skin over her veins.
The crashing, writhing, weaving, turning, twisting waves of her body mirroring mine and vice versa.
I am just here; present.
Face flush to downy hair while wandering in some chaotic void of uncertainty and doubt and violent turbulence.
Words become meaningless.
All hope of understanding this fleshy, helter-skelter concept of
A sinuous 'élan vital' to 'inevitable ceasing death'
All hope of understanding fails.
But I will forever be in this calm of the storm.
Witnessing this pastel scene behind your eyes.
Through the nihilism and anarchy
I feel I am right where I need
And that is all that needs be.
This is my shelter
My helter skelter
So tear me from the lonely diversion,
as I am the melting corrosion
This is my place
My ugly face
I fall to the angry sea,
as a withered man, I plead
This is my view,
My broken pew,
I cross my broken fingers,
as time spent and destiny lingers
This is my penitence,
My own resistance
I am not strong because I am weak
as life stops, I can not speak
Everything is just a wreck of emotions right now
— The End —