Fractal images,
edges,
broken bit by bit,
in the dark,
black deep atmospher of the mind.
With white line's so thin.
Turning tricks,
again, and again,
in square circles.
And triangles,
mathematical form's.
In neon,
primary color's.
Static,
fast pace movement.
That's how I feel,
when in state of mood,
short tempered,
anxious,
reverberated,
refliecting in square circles,
bending,
and braking,
sticking back together,
un ending,
or so it feel's.
Like no release.
But when there is,
I am stagnet,
an empty shell
of a person,
wiped out from terror,
a traumatic event.
The release was not satisfactory,
because I had no control,
I didn't do it,
I can not say,
THat I did that.
There is no prize at the end.
And it is lonely,
and confusing.
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