and again let go

it is the train's switchboard operator yet again shifting the course. it's inexorable, grating and painful to the temples. control is distressing. it makes very little difference.
so what's painful to me must be painful for you, but it isn't. oh if you could smell my nails! secretly sicker than even you imagine.   secretly sickening,  
 
NO BUT IT IS NOT AND I AM NOT AND THIS EQUATES TO ANYTHING YOU LIKE SO MANY POSSIBILITIES,SEXYSWEET, THEN I CAN PULL A DRESS ON FOR DINNER BUT TO GRACIOUSLY SMILE IS BEYOND ME IT SEEMS
 
THESE WORDS ARE SADLY TORNAPARTFROMEACHOTHER
 
i pulsate in quicker contractures and solarflare. a measure of the water pressure in my showerhead some needle swings to empty. i am near done. so weakly sustained to prove the emotions. a flagging triumph is a daily chore, each day i wake underwater to swim nowhere, to shit.
 
as if i have to apologise! as as if! but someone it seems somebody has to.
 
so i write a warning to myself, or a marking in the veneer table.  no one but me sees. no one but me knows. and i hold tightly to something spinning.