This nervous, anxious anxiety sounds like a textbook case. Repeatedly, wet tears fall down my face in a haste to free my soul. Feeling the cold, dead loveless fingers of the old and wondering how it could tell me to be okay. How it could demand this from me every and all day as if my life was placed for it. Concretely rabid, my smile nonexistent to... grab it. I continuously try as I practice my form of peace and completion. Doing things of this nature weakened and thinking that all are believing that I'm just a season. Again, I stop breathing.
I'm keeping my faith, hoping not to waste the coming sanity I taste at my fingertips. This bittersweet on my lips. A devilish contender not only snapping the whip but wrapping it around my neck in hopes of no struggle. And there is what begins the trouble as they pretend to be my God and neglect to see inside my quick-beating heart. They were never supposed to play that part because now this is the start of the final act. I'm forced to use the strength of my love to combat this Azazel ahead. Forcing this demon to have fled to his eternal damnation. He didn't realize the force he was facing. Instead of pacing in a dark room, crying to the moon, and trying to find my righteous mind, I purify my time to what its meant to be; a peacefully exotic eternity.