Fleeting 

If you let your body talk you up. If you let your eyes search for you. If the whispers in your head were as soundless to you as they are to anyone next to you. Would you be so lost if you let your soul wander aimlessly? If you stripped to your core and blindfolded all of your feelings, so they relate to the nothingness. And soaked in your bareness into the numbness on an emotionless existence. Then there is nothing left to be felt of expressed.

Why do I keep that. And where does it all come from? I don’t know. How do we feel a feeling and why does it effect our energy level? Our breathing? Our heart rate? Why become so self involved to a point where you need to set boundaries of your own experiences. Why preserve from a feeling? why doze in the coldness? Have we been able of true power, it would have been one where you can control a feeling of another person. Just enough for a harmless harmony to be born. Where words and glances are always pleasant. Spring is always the weather. Home is always the feeling. It would feel like home. Like a religion that pulls you back to where you first became. A religion, that fears no hell and promises no heaven. For you chose hell and heaven through all of the experience that you go through. For i’ve been to hell. I’ve been to heaven. I keep visiting both places with a fleeting emotion. 

Fleeting. Makes me feel. Consistency is not an option. Consistency if full of numbness. For I’m made out of time. Time will make me and time will devour me. 

Glooming. Blooming. A state of which neither made sense. 

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