A Mind in Perpetual Motion

Processes imply
conclusions,
and
them   while
need                     I
we                        don’t
why                               think
question                                 it’s
to                 you + me =                so
starting            you and/or me              far
I’m                                           gone
anymore,                             that
those                         we
of           can’t
speak

Unclarified pronouns.
 

I am [a] pro(-)noun.
This is what it means to live
A slow anti-alphabetical machine of garbled meaning:

?sI@o(l!t*da5t(o5o-t@s-e-l%m%y[r%s$i/lI’m7t*d@t*n*g=v4i@e
&h@i#m@n8t8o7hv_s(we[u(r_p(d2s@h=r%f9b=y]a%l]y“oI:c
7e*i:n_l-l_e#i_e~a~t#e&n^a&g$e&t,9u“s3b1t1e/i[t#c6t,[t[h2i$gI
)s=e1hn/kt#a%e*a#oh@m=e&i#h!r#d?a^d$s$n9t]d+t:a+n+g
>o>f6y@g6e+i^n#l4t4’$l3e3n4s+h)l!y)o)w’)l)y#c3e/i/l#s/g#p/na;m;e.

I had these plans (read: dreams and people) before they left (right?) or died [were crucified] or ate themselves, or {maybe} that was me [who died?] consuming them al[l](though I knew better), swallowing them down,
|
              / down
deep,
but they }clawed{ cawed their way back out and (now?) they’re terrified of my teeth (incisors, biting, inside you, I just wanted another taste before I let the blood flow freely), but they keep coming back to me because the
poison is just too damn sweet. And, yeah, I love it, too, but damn, if I don’t hate the taste. Well, despite (in spite of? because of?) that I let you [in]/[side me] again. Don’t worry if I don’t see(m) straight; it’s just a phase. And what’s that but another past we have to get over, incorporate,
/>
control?

Fuck your faceless face.

Well, there are things I’ll never live again, and I know what death~and transitions~mean, so don’t mistake it all for happenstance (chance? Where we were again?). Oh, to begin again: I’ve been to   seen the funerals and wondered what the tears were for and why
I couldn’t cry/
standing over top my grandfather’s–and my father -t-al/ks about standing over top his grave, his dead best friend I never knew; I guess we all like the abuse—I really think
you
do, or does it get better when we get bigger? Like when my cousin broke the asshole’s arm, and that fucker had it coming; I only wish it had been me, should have done that one long ago; I’m only stopping now because supposedly there’s no honor in beating the elderly…as if people grow out of and past their sins
–coffin (meanwhile, Melany
broke
me        
down,                
            splintered me to pieces),
but I didn’t have to see her father die; I just had to carry the box with him inside.

That preacher(, man,) he’s got some teeth. I watched them shine off the moon and back to me, and I don’t want to have to second-guess every act of kindness I’ve ever received, but it gets hard when the deacon’s double-dipping in the youth ministry, and, no, it wasn’t me this time, but how do you come to terms with everything he’s ever said about God in Heaven who left you for dead when everyone else agreed you were just fitfully asleep? I don’t want to be the sacrifice, and there are reasons my blood boils, why I’m a
predator with a purpose who can’t give it up, but  fuck
…
Let’s                                                          
talk                                                      
about                                                      
regrets.                               

Yeah, I had a few until I learned to stop blaming myself for everything. It’s when I can’t convincingly say, “Not my fault,” that I can’t get rid of them. Those things I never did (not to be confused with the ones I dove headlong into, chaos I embraced, flames, firestarters, fire-enders, what other way could it be? but, yeah, the past is one Hell of a weird place), never done, I’m giving up because, this time, it feels like the right thing to do. I wanted to be, 
but 
I’m just not that noble. Are you? Was I going to call the next morning? Visit you in your favorite literary city? Leave you breathless and empty? Probably. I think I’m down to one regret these days. I fixed allthe rest, and this one’s not so bad; it’s not like there’s anything left to do at this point, and it’s not like I would, even if I had the chance. So, I’ll live with the dull ache of this 

one.
Cancer is more appealing, but she’s correctly identified the worst in me. And would love to eat me alive. I think I’d let her, too, because it’d be so disappointing for her when she found out that storehouse has already been cleared out. Thank you, thank you, and for my next trick, I make a soul disappear. Break the hinges, call the police. A crime has been committed, and this time, I’m not the victim.
I’ll fucking tear you apart only because you let me.
Congratulations.
This is nobody’s secret. I have a killer’s instinct; I have to keep…
Well, I have to keep a few 
secrets, now, don’t I? I have to keep away, if there’s one  promise
I’m going to keep.
I
{{~fear~}}
\\ that////////////
–    -_-/_-    –
 
–      _/  I  _      –
/
/  
may be shot full of holes,
but I’ll make it work, anyway.

…