I yearn for warm embraces.
I am starving for love
But yet-
In the same moment-
almost simultaneously-
I crave for nothing more
than the cold gnaws
of solitude.
These repetive collections,
And clusters,
Active Hubs
of
emotions and
sensations
is
and always will be
in my mind
the product that trauma reproduces
over and over again.
Not wanting to impose
but in the same moment
swallowing screams.
cries for love
asking to be heard
And to be seen
but yet
within the same frame of time-
I wish for nothing more than
The cloak of invisibility,
Of noramlity,
Of Sanity.
I yearn for the mundane,
The boring,
The predicatable,
Normalcy
But yet
These yearnings have proven time and time
again
To be but mere dreams,
illusions,
slipping through my fingertips.
I grasp at them all the same however,
watching them dissolve between the gaps between my
lanky and aching
fingers.