Dissociate

I fail to be Immersive
I beat away sheets of everyday cotton, exposing myself to light bulbs and sickly saturation of unstuck brightness.
It is not uncommon for the my stomach to turn as the strain pulls from behind my eyes, nerves in the hands of a coachmen in a horse drawn carriage in the bridge of my face
It's never a good start to the day
I've never been able to tell the time, I live in a tower of percentages but maths bombards me with questions I turn him away
I can't ever be truly symmetrical and it bothers me
my brain is Hiroshima several times a day
I can't confront anything that shows face because my pupils aren't looking back at me anyway
I hate the segregation of night and day
Why have these alloted hours got so much control to demand pointless requirements of me
I do not washwell in the afternoon
But people strength past me - driven by a determination that isn't existent for me
How can I concentrate on trivial things when the colour of the sun makes me want to sleep forever
People skip past in man made vehicles with inhuman babble about work and dreams in that same sickly garish contrast but I can barely breathe, people make me unable to breathe which their hierarchy of not feeling sick just by participating in the day and the normalisation and the desensitisation but I can't survive irrespective of company

Just wanted to say I can't concentrate
And I am demonised because I can't think straight
I can't enjoy life when it feels like my eyes are flat balloons and other people are speaking to me in another language of motivation and positivity which cannot exist to someone who feels sick when then they walk outside

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

incredible metaphor..."the segregation of night and day"
"live in a tower of percentages but maths bombard me"

"my brain is Hiroshima several times a day"
one of my favorites from you--

yes, stress, the thoughts that blow up in our minds before they reach paper---incredible stuff.