I'm spinning around but Only My Heart Is Getting Dizzy

Let this lunatic pass
With his temperamental yet submissive past
Stuttering with Intelligent inspired flair
And caring lips worn down with honest breath.

With worryingly understanding eyes
Often diverted by some sarcastic smile
Cut and altered are those patient hands
Clasping at nothing but stubborn skin.

nervous twitches are my outspoken trait
Generating heat from my irregular pace
I'm spinning around with such a spectacular view
But only my heart is getting dizzy.

Lacuna Central

At half past nine I summoned myself to forgive her, and at precisely nine thirty three I had expelled that curiosity, and just filed it as a whim.

I can’t create a format with which to try and live in, as I just simply can’t live within reason. Every doubt I have are all too often proven. If I am unable to be of some substance to others, then I have to admit that I am no longer resilient to the crush of emotions.

Therefore I must be creative for myself and humour my own twitches.

Self Preservation?

Segregation can be seen as both alienation and personal choice. On one such hand I have the inclination that those who are remanding themselves in order to satisfy a religion or personal faith are indeed depriving themselves of open heart surgery. This being the underlined possibility that they may learn more about who they are from those they impose or only ever know about from among the barricades.

My other hand clutches neatly the observation that we against the melting pot of relations, purely out of spite of what we think we stand for. Standing high up on our pedestals, looking directly down.

I am aware of this pretentious behaviour in so very many areas. Where is the maturity in acceptance and mingling?

Are we becoming a nation fed on self preservation?

Unifrom Of Life

We are all woven, and semi stitched in the hope that we can work on our own threadbare premises. Grappling at needles with stubborn fingers, and redesigning our minds. I hung my suit up in full view, Livid grey and mouldering in structure. I have worn this attire for far too long. My super hero costume that never took to the air, or survived the battle of flinching. The aching off white shirt, all stretched out and flagging at the stomach. Trousers’ walked to the bone, and tie loosened and slack redeeming colour. Tarnished shoes kicked out and weathered.

My uniform of life should not be of matter, yet still it causes concern. I was not wearing my customised career and fat wallet hat.

What not to wear? A robe of honesty, as it almost leaves you naked.

I swept myself up into a mild manner and flew into a rage. With pennies in my pocket, I am examining the choices of new skin. With very few on offer for my shrapnel this may be a frequent journey.