Chicken Finger Sunday

Just a single conscious decision, hanging in the palm of your hand A quavering sensation breathing in subsequent rhythm, a pulse dripping from the band All these motifs around me and I'm just a stagnation in time Never will be or is the same as each second lapsing behind Carrying around moments as my burden to bare, and trying to stop my eyes from looking into this seismic solar flare. The ground is sighing beneath my feet or is it attempting to just break free, a living mechanism of one's will and thought leeching from my soul the memories I have wrought. Focused on the grass photosynthesizing in it's summer glare the heat could never reach me from its pinnacled spot 10,000 feet in the air. Casting shadows on the ground segregating the widow at it's peak all the while attempting to hide what I could never seek. Uprooting life around me clawing at the source of their refrain stretching out with feline grace gathering acidic drops of thoughts that have become deranged. Open mouth is bleeding and narrow eyes are never seeing the subconscious insanity soaking in them and the constant lies it's breeding. The shadows black out the light as day smears into night, pendulous orbits of moons and stars that are destined to collide. Gravitating towards the abyss, senses revealing the things I missed and from the seems futile screams are starting to vindictively drip.