I Am Scared of What I Behold

Am I unreal? A work of fiction if you may. The author relishing, the sadistic humour he scribbles is it as amusin as ballet? Dissociating from myself Physiological responses I do confront but no emotion, it does entail. My soul, was it hunt? I am overwhelmed, so much so that I feel blank. Coping by believeing , in the sociopathic tendencies I fabricate. Is this a prank? Gazing at the people, whist paddling down the streets, countless pounding hearts of which I feel devoid of. When will this mess excrete? A ticking time bomb Almost lifeless and extinct Like a myoclonic twitch Which revives the asleep body Reminding it that it is not dead I anticipate a breakdown and fleeting emotions Which I extremely fear and dread. I am afraid of what I behold Assuming it to be worse than a tsunami building up inside me tears that stem from nothingness. Which I did not consiously burry. I try to cry and let it out. I can’t I can’t I am scared of what I behold.