uncertain transition chambers

No broken bones or bruises, but how would I know? Maybe a stream of blue powder was released into my face, like in that one episode of Fringe, with the doll, the nametag, the suspicious packaging, and the hee-hee-hee that came out of it’s black string of a slit for a mouth before the person didn’t have bones anymore. How interesting, their bones are mush, but the people who created the powder were immune to its affects. What they were interested in was payback. With payback, it’s always about the why first. The how much goes second. They hate and love me. I don’t know why but I feel the ferocity of fragility coming to attack me. I’ve been too strong, and they feel it’s wrong. I’ve said too many things, and I can’t take them back. That would all be okay if I wasn’t right so much of the time, and them not understanding right from wrong, it could be like blue from red, and they want to understand why I am choosing a color that doesn’t seem to go well in their drawing. I felt giddy, alive, now i just feel dead again. They wanted it that way, I might feel like saying, if I said anything at all. Their assumptions are as poignant as bumper stickers on the back of a truck. I can’t see the future, but they claim to have some kind of hold on it. As if the future will yield to them just because they plan. I have to wonder about somebody who continues to believe that despite evidence to the contrary being splashed, water as cold as seawater, onto their face every time they use that belief to act. Before my personality was measured on what my affect was on them, and how much i bended to their will. Is that also how they measure the future? I’m getting into territory I won’t be able to faithfully communicate. Better leave now. That’s how it’s been all week anyway. Somebody fitfully bunching their hands into balls because my communication was too complicated. Instead of it being about their limitations, it must have to do with mine, because they don’t know what their limitations are. Enough. I’ve said too much already, and what if I want to take it back?

This entry was posted in cocky guy, criticism, hurled, manic. Bookmark the permalink.

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