A Type of Distress

It’s not that distress

That music can sink into my bloodstream,

Tearing up tendons long gone

Nerves sautered, messages failed,

Failed within emaciated limbs

This is where I want to be,

In that space entirely honestly open to the present experience of my existence.

The alien calm,

Shallow control

The false sense of presence,

Presences through the pillars, chambers of my heart, filling with sand

Grain by grain,

Forcing me to stop

To ack in awe

That music can sink into my bloodstream and

Tearing up tendons long gone

Nerves sauntered, messages failed,

Failed within emaciated limbs

This is where I want to be,

In that space entirely honestly open to the present experience of my existence.

Frozen from within

Rooted in time

In awe of my inability to protect me,

from the sadistic trickery in having multiple mental illnesses.

Soft waves of coherence saunter about, fucking with my delicate sensibilities.

Lingering coherent clam is brought back in moments of time.


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