all in my head

when your brain is shaking aching quaking you are kept from ease the eisle is spattered with squeezed paint splattered in chaotic formation representing vibration and inflamation in your head its suddenly too quaint to hold your bouldering brain thoughts are taught in the sense of a string too tight to cypher too flighty to decipher into comprehension its suspension that keeps you held above awaiting a state of shattering into a lake of lucidity light to the sprinkling touch of trickling fingers through the present invisibility but hard to the fall where air is not there gravity has won the tug of war and the door is swung slammed the plunge is done and the end is closer closed-in and that is the suspense too pense-ful to pend a driftless face of paralyzed momentum...

a response to elise's interpretation of my state of being at lacrosse practice, amidst the floating rainflakes, snowdrops, whatever they may be labeled.