Turmoil
My fingers sit frozen on house row.
The turmoil inside has hit a roadblock at the fingertips.
I watch the cursor dance in place on the computer screen while each painful aeon ticks by waiting for the next brief conversation, sentence, then thought to come out;
it's like pushing thick sludge out of sewage pipes that are too narrow
and it has to be forced out even though it's sickening, disgusting and putrid.
I'd rather it stay inside.
It's safer that way,
saner that way.
Oh, how many aeons have gone by until this moment!
Fear has frozen my every reasoning and action.
I hope in the brief moments of clarity when the fear has been thawed away
and certainty, peace and understaning are standard as soldiers
to guard my thoughts and emotions,
but these soldiers are weary and weak.
They are no match for the war going on inside me.
I expect what men may do to me
and I fear even more what I'm doing to myself by allowing
Bitterness, Resentment, Revenge and Jealousy boss me around.
Then I wonder, is is worse to be destroyed
from the case in, or the inside out?
