Raging mind, turbulent soul.
The angst palpable, the worry visible on miens. We accept the warped superstructure
while the existential tilting remains irrevocably fixed.
We beaver away, while working my ass off.
The lopsidedness of seduluity writ large while we grin and bear it.
I grope and scramble but not a low-lifer.
This ain't me.
This ain't myself.
The bone marrow lending self to revulsion.
The change in piecemeal it approaches, the culmination a bliss of life.
