Apples

Anxiety and just a whole range of emotions running high on the blood that is life. Can't touch what is there, only to be seen. Visions of dead flakes and scars. Leaving trails of subtlety, unknown to what the message really is. Feeling poetic, yet full of despair. The only words that come out are shattered and malignant. As dastardly and cowardly they are, it's life as it is, a plague on us all. Testing the waters, yet having toes pulled off, quick shots to the soul. Nothing is empty, nothing is full. The glass may be there, but what fills that glass? Free running from free thought. A balance and a fall. Tripping to a quick stumble. Looking at whats behind only to see nothing. What is behind? Just something dark. A whole mess encrypted and buried into the dirt. Hiding what is, and showing what is not. Slumber, fasting, and slowly enticing. Causing the shell to be frail. How this could carry on, with only whats in site and nothing to hold onto. Slipping and falling, tossing and turning. Laughter and maniacal eyes stare. Roads of cracks like veins, looking chaotic. Chaos theory holds there is some order no matter how random acts are. Consequent and deluded cries of agony shouting out at what is, tempting the shell to believe what is not. Like a child, a complete new state of mind being brainwashed and indoctrinated to follow these laws. Bounded by blood, blinded by fury. Die by the hand from which it came. Squirming and writhing in pain, screaming in tongues unknown to man. What maelstrom is left is now silent.