wisefool

Sitting in a room, remote
Rummaging through years of situational baggage, in a mental moat
Exasperated, digging for a talisman that will give me peace, emote

Every few moments, acutely aware of my overwhelming sentiments,
trembling with nausea, having to stop and hold my head;
stuck in a state, feeling like my cranial contents are siphoning down into my guts
faint with tingling fingertips, I stop.

I look up out of the ravene, up at the heatless sun
and see the bridge that leads into the castle.

A man, in a scene, scrambling for scraps in a river of digested moments; but why.

My routine neural highways have been roadblocked. The Alternative routes are overwhelmed by neurochemical floods, rarely trafficked synapses now bumper to bumper with heated, honking, impatient amide structures, causing systemic visceral responses and neuronal equivalents to high-richter earthquakes.

Tranquilty evades me and my ego won't abandon this deep dive into my mind's memories, hopes, and fears.

I'm experiencing this automatic psychological sandstorm and all I can do is stand here as the microscopic glass shards erode my entire being. I want to drop it. I force it out of my mind for only a moment and quickly, against my will, the wind begins to whistle once more.

Make it quiet for me. Just say the word for me, and it will go away. Any definitive word and I will know which path to take. I will endure either route. Regardless of the tundra and the weather. Just not this limbo land, not this stagnancy, I'll go mad here. I need movement, momentum, and direction. So just say the word and I'll be on my way. . .

__________________
Say hello to my frontal lobe.