turn my cheek for a cathode ray kiss
They do harm, they do harm and they know they do harm, and I sit with my hands tied, bound by my own decisions and the wishes of others. I cannot act. I cannot speak. I cannot even breathe a single word of what I know, for fear it would spiral into unfriendly ears.
It is untenable.
I throw myself into creation and mental diversion, anodyne to the suppressed words I will not speak, the charges I will not level against those I know do wrong. I cannot interfere. It is not my place and it will not help and it will not aid anyone.
I create, I throw aside, I design, I abandon. Bright thoughts, bright colors, escape my fingers now. I do not let my hands become fists for fear my nails would cut into my own skin.
It is untenable.
I can do nothing. So I do little beyond nothing, diversions without clear point, scattered conversations that have no value, less volume, creations I cannot bring full focus to bear on inner workings, scripted ideas.
The grid goes poisonous, and all earth is char, all waters toxic. I tread carefully when I tread at all.
And design after design fails to work, fails to fly, while all around me spins so fast...if I reach out, I'll be uprooted in an instant, and flung to the razor winds.
I will bear this. I will bear this. I hear the poets sing and I close my eyes, glimmer of silver and blue at the still, quiet center of me. I hold to this. I will not move, I will not speak, and in time, in time, I will feel less as if I've been transformed to molten rock, and more distilled back into chill solidity.
I will bear this. I will not speak, I will not strike out, I will not pour my rage on the unknowing and the knowing alike. I will not break. I will not walk away.
I am here, I can be found, and in time my skin will not sear those who reach out to touch. I will breathe. I will endure. It is not mine to hold this anger, it is mine to safely release it.
I will not hurt simply because I am hurting. I hold fast to that. "An' all wi' be well, an' all wi' be well, an' all manner o' things wi' be well..."
And in the meantime, Dress 5.0 won't wait for me, I have to catch up to meet it.
It is untenable.
I throw myself into creation and mental diversion, anodyne to the suppressed words I will not speak, the charges I will not level against those I know do wrong. I cannot interfere. It is not my place and it will not help and it will not aid anyone.
I create, I throw aside, I design, I abandon. Bright thoughts, bright colors, escape my fingers now. I do not let my hands become fists for fear my nails would cut into my own skin.
It is untenable.
I can do nothing. So I do little beyond nothing, diversions without clear point, scattered conversations that have no value, less volume, creations I cannot bring full focus to bear on inner workings, scripted ideas.
The grid goes poisonous, and all earth is char, all waters toxic. I tread carefully when I tread at all.
And design after design fails to work, fails to fly, while all around me spins so fast...if I reach out, I'll be uprooted in an instant, and flung to the razor winds.
I will bear this. I will bear this. I hear the poets sing and I close my eyes, glimmer of silver and blue at the still, quiet center of me. I hold to this. I will not move, I will not speak, and in time, in time, I will feel less as if I've been transformed to molten rock, and more distilled back into chill solidity.
I will bear this. I will not speak, I will not strike out, I will not pour my rage on the unknowing and the knowing alike. I will not break. I will not walk away.
I am here, I can be found, and in time my skin will not sear those who reach out to touch. I will breathe. I will endure. It is not mine to hold this anger, it is mine to safely release it.
I will not hurt simply because I am hurting. I hold fast to that. "An' all wi' be well, an' all wi' be well, an' all manner o' things wi' be well..."
And in the meantime, Dress 5.0 won't wait for me, I have to catch up to meet it.
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