The throb you feel or you don't
Bounces off of some of
The things
That you want
But then again
There's the general malaise
That imagines
With no evidence
The things that you crave.

If I keep eating
Pies pasties and puddings
Would gravity's weak force
Be countermanded
So I could slip these
Surly bonds?

The healing
is in the silence-
you needn't struggle
nor engage in thinking

content:
the cool soft breeze caressing your hair
happiness:
the clear bright sunny sky
sadness:
the gentle rain dampening your skin
depression:
the pouring rain drenching your clothes
anger:
the scorching sun and whipping wind
rage:
the violent winds and tornado warnings

Voices saying nothing.
Never stopping.
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.

Music from nowhere
“I feel bad for her fiancée or whatever he is”
I know your face.
I’ve seen your insides.
Maybe I’ll fly.

Empty eyes.
Empty smile.
“Like no offence to her but she’s too shy”
Maybe we’ll crash.
Maybe I’ll fly.

Pounds to tons.
Routine to chaos.
Maybe we’ll die,
But maybe I’ll fly.

This, a rarity.
A stolen seashell
From the treasury of chaos,
My solitude.

Fortune favors the bold.
I'll continue to hide
With my stolen treasure,
Until chaos comes to claim.