It is a scary event.
Uncontrolled. Precariously exalted.
Sex.
Black and white.
Throwing in some gray.
The first picture the first scene.
The first act sets up the finale that breaks the soul.
There is no telling the end, only the repetition of the beginning.
Over and over it goes.
The fear of touch, the lack of touch.
Too much,
Touch in-between.
Skewed does the view come to me at night when sleep escapes me.
But why?
I see my own, and others, and a mix of two people in one.
All intermingling,
two,
three, and more.
The only way I see to get out is down.
The only truth is Nothingness.
The deep. Inward. Silent.
The voices are finally leaving, the thoughts no longer rambling.
After the event that played in my head, in my hands, at times, the tears come, but sobs remain, and I keep stringing myself along.
Freedom: what a strange concept.
No one around to hear my screams of peace.
I guess pain shows there is a need within the hole of life…
jeremiahletter 