In the nearby future I wish to add borders around each section, seperating the different worlds these versions of me belong to. I am unsure of the things I am supposed to hold dear to me, and which are the things I am allowed to let free, like a deer leaping in the wind. I suppose I'll learn that along the winding ways. Because I cannot stand to wait, the thoughts in my mind have already run a-flutter. Usually the heart is the runner-upper; But (this) time and my thoughts, are both racing against one another. Perhaps I Should name my horse in the race: "translator".
I'd reached out to an old friend today. Without any single person's doubt, courtesy mine absence, I shared some wild mind-blowing things; But I found the things he shared to be more maddening. And I was, crazy the same, but now mad as changed. He'd molded a soul into crumpled paper, and discarded into a can with the label "can't"; All the while blind. For someone who relies on touch, he sure as hell couldn't feel the impact of shit. To follow, he was stuffing his mouth with popcorn while I'd named my struggles as if it was a fucking puppet-show. Despite this, because I do almost despise it, I am unable to claim shock, because I'd already known him to be a collector of puppets before. The reason I'd even reached out, is because there was no reasoning. You'd fail to claim shock too, because I had mentioned the state in which my mind lives in, although I can't remember the name of the city. That too is another thing I seen, my memory leaving me. I say this to those who have chosen to read this far, you can't be too literal with words. They are just only a series of orchistrated lines after all.
The ghost I had been mourning, has gone into hiding. But where to?
The cobwebs clings in the gaps of my ribcage, occasionally coming loose and brushing against my heart. It takes it hard to breathe, from my coughing dust spews. The sound of our shared laughter forms in the form of grey bundles. Theres even our banter in the way the dust specs seem to chase each other. And, there is even the lack of a container to which the dust has no choice but to fall towards the ground. Who knew distance, the absence of presence, could make an imprint. Ghosts aren't supposed to have bodies. But then again how could you claim abillity to leave me?
I hate when dread becomes a more complex emotion than it should be. It should just be a simple thud, a sound of the heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. It should just be a quick stop in your tracks, followed by a facepalm as you're reminded that you have an essay due the next day. What it shouldn't be, is every muscle in your body braced, every joint flexible for the unpredictable. It shouldn't feel as if your every life could be at risk at any untold moment. Every sound little sound that makes its way to my ear, should be a staic, not important data. I have become a bunny, taking hushed shallow breaths, quiet but braced, alert. And I worry about mother bunny, who has grown sickly, and cannot muster the strength to bite. But it was mother bunny, who had us abandon our den to live with a jackrabiit. It was mother bunny who stopped tending to her offspring, once there was a divide between the two species in the shared den. It was mother bunny, who took in a fish that could not breathe properly in our den. It was mother bunny who now subjected another of my siblings to this sufforcating life, but worse. Because Jackrabbit liked to pick on our fish since he owned the den. And yet, despite the truth in this, me and my siblings brace, not to run, but to fight for mother bunny. Even if the blood spilt spells our death.