When swallowed by Neuth

Positions of tendons

refuse to shift

And a shackle never bore

a more harmless appearance

And weightless it is.

With paw to pavement.

Hachikō sits.

Waiting.

for

You

to arrive.

And only through

glossy eyes

will there appear

All

Except the passenger

most important.

Yet

the feet I behold

bruised at their best

Will carry me back

to the station.

To sit.

And wait

again.

For

if

Patience

is a hymn.

Loyalty

is

a symphony.

Everything begins much like a circle:

it slopes so dramatically

giving the passengers a run for their money

Making the solar plexus…tumble.

..uncomfortable..

But the upturn is enthralling…

..shear..

enthrallment.

The apogee

is none other

than the feeling

of being

On top of the world.

And if that holds true

Then why

Does this feel

so much

like a triangle..

My hands

continuously pricked

by the two

pointy

sides.

can a site maintain poison? 

could it be possible for all foundations

bound to earth

to contain incurable disease?

is it true for someone to wither

from a town?

i bear witness

to the parasite

taking away the life of an individual.

and all i can do is watch

when all i am to desire

is to breathe life back

into their gasping lips

so the luster in their eyes

can show through

so they are to feel

as free

as when they were distant

from the parasite.

and the only cure 

isn’t within reach

so a numbing obsession

of carbonation

in its serial form

is the only comfort

all i could do is watch

that individual suffer

until i pass the toxic threshold

and risk becoming a host.

I guess lifting curses this heavy is beyond the realm of possibility. It is too strong a punishment to bare for what I have done. Perhaps not in this life, or reality, but another. And I am only ever sorry, because it is all I ever can be. I want to be what is wanted. But I am not. Every slip of the tongue tells me so. My dusty heart will no longer beat without the anticipation of an equal or faster response. My soul is only comfortable intertwined in your arms. So when it is lost or left alone it falters and breaks leaving a vicious demon in its wake. There are few who realize that I am cursed. And I can only be sorry for it. The night swallows me. It hurts me. I overthink I tell myself the worst is true, I make pain my only reality and I am cruel. When I begin to panic is when mean phrases hiss out of my mouth. I am sorry. I need to be held to keep the demon away. To keep the soul in place. When every fiber of my being grasps for every fiber of yours..

I plan constantly. To leave. And to where. 

Knowing no one will go with me. Or visit.

I don’t like where I live. I need sand. Water.

By the time I finish school. Or before.

I find it easier to hide. Hundreds or thousands of miles.

Everyone is right about me. I don’t fit.

So I find it easier to sink inwards. No expansion.

It’s simple to be forgotten. No effort to remember.

I think I’ll be native. In the complete opposite direction.

And hide.

Just a thought. 

I can’t stop thinking.