spinning. twirling. falling.

When you can’t sit still. When your legs ache to move.

The people you love are always left behind, because there is nothing in you that understands loyalty. Nothing inside of you that understand that love is a mutual link, a connection that needs to be nurtured with a steadfast hand.

You sit alone. Never lonely other than by your own making. A bubble you spend nights and days shaping, endlessly inflating this solitary sphere with the toxicity of your own person.

A cosmos, yours. Space-time defined by the ache.

The illusion of self-control as you are driven mad by the siren song of the emotive nomad. Free falling through an ephemeral web of compulsive urges.

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~ by Ape on May 19, 2013.

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