the thoughts keep repeating, like history. the same instances keep peeping in, and while i welcome the confusion, and i find the tense feeling charming, it makes me feel wild and loose. i swell with lack of control. if i could, i would bolt myself down, pin myself against the ground with something large and solid. i would move away from the sky, impressing on concrete until it splintered me into pieces, until it separated me into the elements, and i enroll into the earth. sometimes, i wish i could return from the self inflicted tragedy…. the practiced songs, and just lend myself back to my mother, so she could make the decision, either to give me life or to give me to god.