manuscriptx
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Torment,
I hear the muffles calling me once again, reminding me that they're back to come and dance an all too familiar song. I feel tense. Moderate.
You always know when it's once, maybe even a few seconds that it's at a beginning. Pauses and bated breath put almost a choke hold over my entire body.
Table for one and a glass of fear on the side, not yet but it will come and soon. Its way up north, but still feels very close.
Never stay calm but even for a moment it wants to catch you off guard, laughing at your jumping around timid little nature.
I feel only partially dicey off the narrow mind but I'll never black out, not under these conditions of fear and intimidation. Sorry to say so.
God made me this way of course, but not without any supposed purpose or ridiculous statement made among friends, an angry soggy response, No, not him. Disappointed?
I normally look at the radar screen and wonder what could possibly target all that fire and fury riding the southeasterly winds? The mating calls of a duck on Nantucket Sound. The rumbles of thunder bunch up like a clean hit across the jaw, fisted thumbs and fingers tight and clammy.
Faces on Glory Road open wide, with awe in all of its might. Yes, madam she says I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere, not yet anyway. I think she still plays with the guitar string hoping of course like a little mouse that
I'll react in some way favorable. Chi sum is the favorite best said among thieves.
Yeah, ahem it now, after I slept in dangerous quarters for what bear fruit it will bring. A lousy twist of fate, deadly encounter strings on the brow and rain droplets let a once sad pimple burst into flames all over the asphalt.
Slowly but very surely I knew it would work. One day will come when I keep hearing this note passed along to me from an imaginary friend. His name is Torment.
Is it all that bad? On a rainy day like this with all the lightning and thunder, the answer is yes it is. But he already knew that.
Whose grip is firmly around your neck? No one, so get up out of that corner and face your fear, I dare you. But I couldn't. Stuck in my chair the children continued to laugh at me. Not just them but everyone around me. Reverberations in each hall throughout the school, I feel as though I can't get away, I know I can't. Even if I wanted to I'd get hit. I just know it.
Encompassing me, encouraging me, The Purgatory of Rumpelstiltskin sent a message that I stay alive, for the moment, only for the moment. Be on your best behavior. Be gentle and forthcoming, yes ma.
Never ail, never harden, or lick frosty snow. Never even kneel gently. Like a red river parting ways, my sanity left me, each region's city engulfed in flames, lightning and water. I feel sorry for them, not me. Unforgiving rain gushes and gulps, tentacles stretching from the watery tips of Maine down to the lower east side of Chicago. Some shady pinks watch close. Stay inside and listen to the heartbeats, the heart sounds shiver. Dry warts still wet. I told you I saw maybes, all blistered and torrid. Just beneath me but still too close, like cockroaches that won't die.
I'm not scared of green. All that hope wasted for nothing. Somewhere I expect to be apart of Loomis's strange and challenging crossroads, a river run wild, my own since the tender age of 7.
I won't get over it, I can't. A slight moving dust mite just blew over my face and thought -oh, there you are-.
Who knows, seems he and his green never really did knew but for how long? A crystal ball would tell me, no light at the end of the tunnel, no curves, no comets or computers, this time around. Smothered in a closet the door has afternoon heat on it. So it will toughen me up a little. Lighten up. He says, pulling on my elbows.
I said it's your choice, pull on my elbows or smell of danger. Smiling he said even the worst boating accident couldn't jar this pretty face. Risk is everything, know your limits up above, and drape a tie over your shoulder. I can't think of any music scene as logistical as and calmer than this. After the lonely dove of the night finally passed, on the north side, it bore on a line exceeding the sum of its parts. Forget the theme. Just stand there. Stand ahead of the storm.
Yes, I know, if you can even vaguely remember the sound, you would wonder why it is still close?
Bleeding out and afraid I imagine I'll never attempt to hear that again, varying sights and sounds emanating from a window. The chemical test I sprayed it earlier and you want to know now what the results will claim. Don't resist the temptation. There's another explanation. The word seems to help. Ever wonder why the belly of the beast never seems fed? Those ruthless are usually the first to go.
Yeah, I'm tired, tired and completely worn out. Ever wonder what's under the tunnel? Why shouts and gritting teeth make a poor man tough? I don't hate these rabble rousers and eye gougers. Spit tastes the same, peddling their precious wonders, snake oil and therapists, now and the hereafter.
Confirmation with each inch sounds so much forward, than a simple hello. Tickling the piano keys sometimes eases me into something I never knew once before. I know more now. I always will have this fear of storms. The unknown, the waiting game, and a behavioral tick I can't control, nor would I wipe away, because it changes me. It changes the game, the game of life, the definition of my own life, the sad, the sorry, the name and the pain. Without me, I'm not really me, the good and the bad, the evil, and the feeling of shame.
I feel my father's face and arms, his weird wrist action ashamed though he'll never admit it. That he didn't want me to be. He told me I had no reason to fear but the gift said otherwise. Almost in the palm of my hand, not this mighty uncomfortable light force. In the sky it could overwhelm, and it flew away. Maybe someone else could be his favorite.
Rewind time and put someone else in my place, making me eat death, pull me back as a spirit, don't funnel me down towards birth, make me sit in the stands with the other spirits watching on the video screen of another birth, like orphans that wave goodbye, someone wanted him more, maybe you too which to me would be a lie.
Arson he can't forgive and a son who won't want to choose his pathway and is a servant of his own evils, the indecisions, the fractures of mind, body and soul. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for all that he gave me. I'm sorry for making him unsatisfied with everything in his life. I apologize now and forever for every misdeed done to him. I feel my own personal destruction inching forward each day.
I'm sorry for the unforeseeable. I'm sorry for myself and my own fate, a life in decline, love no one ever sees.
Maybe someday there’s much regret.
I hear the muffles calling me once again, reminding me that they're back to come and dance an all too familiar song. I feel tense. Moderate.
You always know when it's once, maybe even a few seconds that it's at a beginning. Pauses and bated breath put almost a choke hold over my entire body.
Table for one and a glass of fear on the side, not yet but it will come and soon. Its way up north, but still feels very close.
Never stay calm but even for a moment it wants to catch you off guard, laughing at your jumping around timid little nature.
I feel only partially dicey off the narrow mind but I'll never black out, not under these conditions of fear and intimidation. Sorry to say so.
God made me this way of course, but not without any supposed purpose or ridiculous statement made among friends, an angry soggy response, No, not him. Disappointed?
I normally look at the radar screen and wonder what could possibly target all that fire and fury riding the southeasterly winds? The mating calls of a duck on Nantucket Sound. The rumbles of thunder bunch up like a clean hit across the jaw, fisted thumbs and fingers tight and clammy.
Faces on Glory Road open wide, with awe in all of its might. Yes, madam she says I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere, not yet anyway. I think she still plays with the guitar string hoping of course like a little mouse that
I'll react in some way favorable. Chi sum is the favorite best said among thieves.
Yeah, ahem it now, after I slept in dangerous quarters for what bear fruit it will bring. A lousy twist of fate, deadly encounter strings on the brow and rain droplets let a once sad pimple burst into flames all over the asphalt.
Slowly but very surely I knew it would work. One day will come when I keep hearing this note passed along to me from an imaginary friend. His name is Torment.
Is it all that bad? On a rainy day like this with all the lightning and thunder, the answer is yes it is. But he already knew that.
Whose grip is firmly around your neck? No one, so get up out of that corner and face your fear, I dare you. But I couldn't. Stuck in my chair the children continued to laugh at me. Not just them but everyone around me. Reverberations in each hall throughout the school, I feel as though I can't get away, I know I can't. Even if I wanted to I'd get hit. I just know it.
Encompassing me, encouraging me, The Purgatory of Rumpelstiltskin sent a message that I stay alive, for the moment, only for the moment. Be on your best behavior. Be gentle and forthcoming, yes ma.
Never ail, never harden, or lick frosty snow. Never even kneel gently. Like a red river parting ways, my sanity left me, each region's city engulfed in flames, lightning and water. I feel sorry for them, not me. Unforgiving rain gushes and gulps, tentacles stretching from the watery tips of Maine down to the lower east side of Chicago. Some shady pinks watch close. Stay inside and listen to the heartbeats, the heart sounds shiver. Dry warts still wet. I told you I saw maybes, all blistered and torrid. Just beneath me but still too close, like cockroaches that won't die.
I'm not scared of green. All that hope wasted for nothing. Somewhere I expect to be apart of Loomis's strange and challenging crossroads, a river run wild, my own since the tender age of 7.
I won't get over it, I can't. A slight moving dust mite just blew over my face and thought -oh, there you are-.
Who knows, seems he and his green never really did knew but for how long? A crystal ball would tell me, no light at the end of the tunnel, no curves, no comets or computers, this time around. Smothered in a closet the door has afternoon heat on it. So it will toughen me up a little. Lighten up. He says, pulling on my elbows.
I said it's your choice, pull on my elbows or smell of danger. Smiling he said even the worst boating accident couldn't jar this pretty face. Risk is everything, know your limits up above, and drape a tie over your shoulder. I can't think of any music scene as logistical as and calmer than this. After the lonely dove of the night finally passed, on the north side, it bore on a line exceeding the sum of its parts. Forget the theme. Just stand there. Stand ahead of the storm.
Yes, I know, if you can even vaguely remember the sound, you would wonder why it is still close?
Bleeding out and afraid I imagine I'll never attempt to hear that again, varying sights and sounds emanating from a window. The chemical test I sprayed it earlier and you want to know now what the results will claim. Don't resist the temptation. There's another explanation. The word seems to help. Ever wonder why the belly of the beast never seems fed? Those ruthless are usually the first to go.
Yeah, I'm tired, tired and completely worn out. Ever wonder what's under the tunnel? Why shouts and gritting teeth make a poor man tough? I don't hate these rabble rousers and eye gougers. Spit tastes the same, peddling their precious wonders, snake oil and therapists, now and the hereafter.
Confirmation with each inch sounds so much forward, than a simple hello. Tickling the piano keys sometimes eases me into something I never knew once before. I know more now. I always will have this fear of storms. The unknown, the waiting game, and a behavioral tick I can't control, nor would I wipe away, because it changes me. It changes the game, the game of life, the definition of my own life, the sad, the sorry, the name and the pain. Without me, I'm not really me, the good and the bad, the evil, and the feeling of shame.
I feel my father's face and arms, his weird wrist action ashamed though he'll never admit it. That he didn't want me to be. He told me I had no reason to fear but the gift said otherwise. Almost in the palm of my hand, not this mighty uncomfortable light force. In the sky it could overwhelm, and it flew away. Maybe someone else could be his favorite.
Rewind time and put someone else in my place, making me eat death, pull me back as a spirit, don't funnel me down towards birth, make me sit in the stands with the other spirits watching on the video screen of another birth, like orphans that wave goodbye, someone wanted him more, maybe you too which to me would be a lie.
Arson he can't forgive and a son who won't want to choose his pathway and is a servant of his own evils, the indecisions, the fractures of mind, body and soul. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for all that he gave me. I'm sorry for making him unsatisfied with everything in his life. I apologize now and forever for every misdeed done to him. I feel my own personal destruction inching forward each day.
I'm sorry for the unforeseeable. I'm sorry for myself and my own fate, a life in decline, love no one ever sees.
Maybe someday there’s much regret.