In a perpetual state of conversion.
From part to whole,
or empty to full.
More like from known to unknown. . . in a state of unbecoming?
Every drop of fuel I put in the tank is evaporating,
this fast half-life of faith and discipline,
gone just as it hits the veins.
It's an intermittent infusion of truth that is eaten by the body before it ever hits the heart.
A third of
/self/
that is incommunicado with the other two parts.
Although the walls are invisible, we all know they are there.
There's your fucking elephant, you fuck.
Can't you feel it. . .
sitting on your chest
collapsing your lungs
whispering in your ear about how futile your efforts are
"fuck it. . . " you'll say. Apathetic to your burdens. Indifferent to life. "Fuck it."
Swimming in anxieties, a shitty emesis of anxieties.
Then a rip/roar, fucking tiger claws
shredding the aether around;
a shape-shifting hologram
3 fucking D
a moment by moment
oscillation of Metatron's Cube
in Rubik fashion.
Floating downstream
in a Torus Tube of Energy
I'll see and question. . .
What has gotten into-me?
