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There is a thought that lingers at the back of my mind in which I will forever wonder, possible.
Pulsing aggravation of what calm vision, discreet in its bleeding of thoughts in a path of neurosis while darting myopia in shades of brown, nestled lubrication in its crown, overflowed.

Subconsciously clutching my center, overbearing this sense of loss in equilibrium.
My balanceoff, jaunted by phantoms of conscience. Yet, I deny nature of the satisfaction meant for those around me to leave me incarcerated. For I am the font of calmness and that is the expression of my physique, projected in empty glass of frosted windows of a supposed soul.
Not to embrace this winter a means to an end. I am borne free and boundless shall I be, almost. With one single thought that lingers, I am bounded still, I am human.