Full Stream Of Piss, I meant Consciousness

You worry about some strange things she said her hand stroking the hair on my chest, the other curled around my thickening cock to try and convince me she should be my worry my muse    
   
I think about that    
worry on the edges of it    
until it’s a polished pebble    
until it’s a thought that’s repetitive    
until    
until    
until I realise the futility of the worry    
can’t change people without insanity and investment    
of time, of energy and all the resources I use to simply exist    
my rage simmers below the surface    
a muscle car    
its accelerator jammed on    
with a brick    
I sit in the drivers seat    
foot mashed on the brakes    
huffing carbon-monoxide waiting to pass out    
   
A hair trigger, pulled grenade pin    
sitting between my white teeth    
waiting for it to explode    
internal organs all over the screen    
grab some pop corn    
3-D glasses    
wait for the effects    
   
I growl my lust and beat my chest    
looking perpetually enraged at the world    
not the epitome of Auguste Rodin    
the apex of a thinking man    
even as I’ve aged I’m still the strongest man    
in all except the biggest gyms    
where strength is a commodity that they hone like slick blades on steel strops    
   
most of these men are the cliche    
of all muscle no brain    
don’t fit in    
because I worry about greater things than my next repetition    
about the next creatine supplement    
my next shot of HGH to be the biggest    
baddest robot on the block    
   
Try to fit in with the thinking class    
and I’m a raw nerve shifting under the skin    
imposter syndrome    
that my mind is as delicate as my hands    
those things I speak of so much    
because they bear my scars the most    
   
I touch the world with them    
my emotions reflect through their    
clenched shaking    
the frustration at every fine tuned task    
they’re too clumsy for    
every friendly pat on the back I gave    
that brought another kid to tears    
my enthusiasm too much for their fragile bodies    
I had to temper myself for the world of people    
and now I find I think my mind is the same as these tools    
able to grasp the biggest concepts    
but there’s no refinement    
just a mass of ideas I’ve crushed open    
and I’m able to stare at their desiccated remains    
   
So I worry about acceptance    
my vulnerability as exposed as I would be    
with a broken zipper and no underwear    
   
she strokes me again    
whispers in my ear    
I settle  
and she lowers the O
of her mouth down
crushing my worry beneath pliant lips
and working tongue