by annex50

The world has left you alone.
It spins and cycles.
You… you falter and regress.
It is not meant for you.

The phone rings until your ears pierce.
It funnels down a slide of conclusion.
You… you find your current.
It is not meant for you.

The gift excites your senses.
It’s bow presents a gleaming crescendo.
You… you rip it all to the core.
It is not meant for you.

The conversation grapples at your taste buds.
It gargles into a funnel of assimilation.
You… you excrete a paradoxical whirlwind.
It is not meant for you.

The constance of your breath harmonizes a conflicted propulsion.
It gasps for an exhalation and regurgitation.
You… you inhale a palpitating rhythm.
It is not meant for you.

The progression of time is heavy on your mind.
It squeezes and tantalizes you into a state of antiquity.
You… you transcend beyond the poetic hands.
They are not meant for you.

All of the judging words you bombard as truths.
They rupture through your resistant screams.
You… you warcry an antithesis of this highway.
They find you.

Atoms of creation thrust into a reverberation.
Axons despair toward an undiscovered neural synapse.
All… you… hypothesize a utopian anabasis mystifyingly gravitating toward
Dendrites… and… they are not able to recognize your globality.