Airing Out the Feeling vol 3

 once more, a solara-free saturday. there is definitely more coming, i promise.

No path, like this one, the one necessary 

for some kind of rest. Slippage and breakage
Tender thy farthings. I am a bucket of impatience
Punctured nerve endings, like shell shock

Immune to the siren song of deeper breaths

Patience

Grow out from me, solid oak exhaustion

Shake this in a broken cup. Clink and a clack

I am so much of the noise ratio. A pillar

of vibrant waves of sound. Glimpse
these stress responses in glances

Never head on.

Corner dwelling, hands over eyes,

active terror response, having been
seen at last.

Grow out from me, shrieking,
Pink cloud of impulse control
Let it grow
Forward

Blot out an agreeable starry night

Hands and hissing, 

Reject Light

Remain in cover

Of shadow and another

Darkened room.

Double plus blackout.

Grow out from me, empty

Glass bowl.

Let them see what you’ve been

Feeling, Leonard. Let them know

What is willing and what is being

Dragged by the scruff, nails and
Loud repudiations trailing behind.

Let it be left behind.

A monument to what it isn’t

or even what exactly it is.

Just so.

Like that. And let it stay

behind.