(Taken) Sickness

Where does the moment lie at this very moment? the essence of the spiritual matter regarding the gratitude of time iridescent. The vastness of volcanic eruptions corrupting the mind as the body flows freely with liquid assurance.

A new breath leaps forward and overtakes the latter exhale. A simultaneous take; the new press of earth over seedlings emerging after a cold winter.

A stream of consciousness corrupted by ego and thought, lacking feeling and honesty as words flail out of such fingers; a phonetic miracle, sound inscribed, symbols resembling words, an alphabet growing out of an ordeal of intellectual making.

Colors arranged beside me on a carpet stranding with mucus and slime. A mysterious snail creeping o’er the night leaving traces; a history dried up and present.

Plants grow, leaning, lacking strength of their own perhaps by unintentional caregiving. Old people betrayed, the sound of children laughing outside and a car echoing through a tunnel or street near the window.

Light begins to fade slowly, I yawn in discontent… where am I heading, where am I now. The feeling of stress lingers ever-so close to my head. A pretentious slope of lies, deceit and a rapture of thumbs posed in question of GOD. a truth unfolds as roots stretch from my feet. Barking loudly the nearest source of life comes dimly from my head. Is my mind thinking or am I flowing through speech given as gift from a muse?

I feel a bit lost, forgotten and sloppy, dirty, uncleansed, impure and slow.

Masturbating both body and soul, climaxing into words that don't follow or lead, but stay stuck in between concrete connections.

A system broken from circular motion, attempting to find the loop; to spiral upwards into the heavens.

There’s a silence in the air even through all the sound permeating. A quiet, a stillness so eery and frozen that my chest warms up with fear and phlegm.

I feel sick.