doing things

note: Read this as if I'm blurring one sentence into the next, no pauses, just slightly from one line to the next. Read it as if the farther I go the faster I get the more madening each word is, fueling the next.

You're doing things again.
The things that make me mad inside my head.
Doing things that make me cringe they make me feel
like I could crash and die and burn and why?
to make me feel so small, is this the plan?
Doing things.
Could you do things that I would want
The things that make me go?
They make me tick
Like wishing we could dance real slow?
Doing things like coming up to me to me and whispering
that I'm not perfect
Cuz I don't want to be an inhuman
idealist
bubble of perfection
I am human
I am wrong
This is the meaning of the word
The bad nature
The associations.
I am bad
there's no doubting that much
But why does this peace of mind settle over me
Like a cool mist?
This peace of mind unsettles me
deeply
it strangles at my feet
the finger tips touching me reverantly and yet
and yet
they're grabbing me like they want me to come down this confusion
its eating me up making me
sick inside of course its wrong of course its right of
course it's telling me that I should not worry because
why would
I worry when the soothing voices tell me not
to
tell me not to shake and scream they tell me not to that's
the reason that I do because
I must defy them, I must defy all they stand for
that perfection,
my pacing feet going back and forth carry by body and for
what?
Why should they?
Why can't you just tell me the truth and it'll be over with. Tell me
that I'm wrong that I'm fake that I'm real that I'm good that I'm bad
and small and all the things of misery
because this misery is eating me up
it must defy the peace of mind that lingers, so close, on the edge of all my thoughts
or else maybe I'd just be happy
and that would just be plain wrong.