Ticks

It happened one day when I was overworked and overwhelmed with too many details and too many striking clock hands. And when I rested my elbow upon the rough grey surface of the table, I saw it. A surge. Moving me noticeably. This was not a hallucination. This was not my mind playing with my reality; a bending I was familiar to.

Voltage runs through bone marrow.

I remember continuously finding the energy between my hands. Fast movements, I was always a ball of glowing enigma. Something so mysterious yet so accurate. Movements so determined in defying the slowness of nature.

But this was different; it started without willingness. It came out of nowhere or rather the accumulation of everything. Like the leftover food that never seemed to go away, this motion struck me and left me hanging in constant movement for the following ninety minutes. Never stopping once, but never exhibiting any pattern.

Numbers to stretched apart, it felt like I was weaving in the most infinite of the larger infinity of a pattern who’s familiarity appeared so far into the numbers. But it must’ve been a pattern; this is a design, it doesn’t fall short or fall empty of being.

 

Swallow.

You think, the wrong thoughts. 
The mirages, are real,
In reality, perspective is a common deception,
you think,
you know, 
But you don’t,
you think, 
God knows,
you’re so naive,
He’s lost in his own divinity,
You pray to the universe,
You talk, converse, with your loved one,
Escaping.
But you can’t,
It’s the mirage,
You think it’s real,
you think wrong,
you think God,
A million years after God thinks you,
You’re another product,
Cancer patient?
You’re an error,
mutation,
an unintended bump on the highway,
covered up,
being called a test,
or to claim that it was meant to be there,
like an unintended bump,
Slowing you down,
slowing your mind,
processing,
forever,
only to push you up the cliff,
with a broken end,
you fall,

The error’s never gone,
it’s erased,
But the pencil markings of loved one’s’ sobs on your grave,
remain,
God tries, infinitely,
He never stops,
You try, you think you try,
infinitely,
but you don’t,
Because if you really did,
you’d be God,

And God doesn’t think,
wrong.

That repulsive repellent utopian perfection in every bit of your Lord,
you think you’ll vomit,
You think wrong,
God will make you swallow it down,
Swallow.