Ripping Round Rotation
I'm lying here with my back to the underground, bright eyes watching a two-faced world liquify into tomorrow. My nails are uneven and I shift my thoughts to realize so is the balance of my life.
A trip to the naturopath defined my sleeping patterns and picked apart my brain to tell me what I've known all along. He asks if I feel entrapped in this world, like I'm chained to this place and unable to be free. I feel like he's stepped into my head: "Hello, I'm your conscience." I don't think he could have been more right. Another question: do you feel like you know who you are? Using the touch-point miridian system, he's picked apart these two thoughts in less than two minutes and dug to the root of my sleeplessness.
I'm a bird without wings to fly away on, with no way out of a cage that isn't even locked.
How pathetic.
To define myself as an individual is to define an uncomprehensable number of people that have flowed back and forth in my head for nearly seven years. It's not as easy as it sounds, to grab hold of one of them, take them by the shoulders and shake the meaning of who they are out of their heads. So... who am I?
I am an entity that is bound by much more than what appears on the surface.
I am a hundred layers of skin unpenetrable from the many that flow through my blood.
I am one head to hold a thousand.
I am a person who doesn't even know how to break free from the chains of discovering who I am in the first place.
But these are just fancy words to disect complicated thoughts, molding them into artistic poetry that not even a single set of eyes will lay sight on. So the point of it all? That's a question I'll leave stale in the air and let it manifest and evolve on its own over time. There are many questions I could ask myself, point my finger to the overhang of contemplation and declare my opinions to a world around me that is void of communication towards the matter. For now, I'm just tired of words. I'm tired of language and I just want to speak with my body.
So I'll cut this short, bind my tongue, sew my lips and open my eyes to the boundless world and endless skies.
A trip to the naturopath defined my sleeping patterns and picked apart my brain to tell me what I've known all along. He asks if I feel entrapped in this world, like I'm chained to this place and unable to be free. I feel like he's stepped into my head: "Hello, I'm your conscience." I don't think he could have been more right. Another question: do you feel like you know who you are? Using the touch-point miridian system, he's picked apart these two thoughts in less than two minutes and dug to the root of my sleeplessness.
I'm a bird without wings to fly away on, with no way out of a cage that isn't even locked.
How pathetic.
To define myself as an individual is to define an uncomprehensable number of people that have flowed back and forth in my head for nearly seven years. It's not as easy as it sounds, to grab hold of one of them, take them by the shoulders and shake the meaning of who they are out of their heads. So... who am I?
I am an entity that is bound by much more than what appears on the surface.
I am a hundred layers of skin unpenetrable from the many that flow through my blood.
I am one head to hold a thousand.
I am a person who doesn't even know how to break free from the chains of discovering who I am in the first place.
But these are just fancy words to disect complicated thoughts, molding them into artistic poetry that not even a single set of eyes will lay sight on. So the point of it all? That's a question I'll leave stale in the air and let it manifest and evolve on its own over time. There are many questions I could ask myself, point my finger to the overhang of contemplation and declare my opinions to a world around me that is void of communication towards the matter. For now, I'm just tired of words. I'm tired of language and I just want to speak with my body.
So I'll cut this short, bind my tongue, sew my lips and open my eyes to the boundless world and endless skies.