And searching for

Someone else’s answer.

This is not my own.

I’m pulling the reigns

Out of the sockets,

And drowning this dead horse,

I’ve stomped entirely flat.

What are we when isolated?

Torn and visible:

We are wanting;

We are waiting to go through.

I begin to dig my grave

In this thrilling medium.

Can’t this pen go faster?

I want deeper lines!

I’m chewing my wits end,

Forming my catatonic stupor,

Completing this fatal distraction.

What are we isolated?

Torn and visible:

We are wanting;

We are waiting to pass through

This invisible barrier

Inside our head.

Pushing through

Shoving past the crowd

Pushing through

Cutting into my soul.