Turnupspeed

Blood pumping. Heart racing. Fingers dancing. Keys rattling. Tapping. Not sure. Simply not sure. This is tomorrow’s all day. All our tomorrows could happen in just one day. The ocean is so far away.
I keep losing the few wits I have about me any and every time I see another part of you falling off this virtual plateau. Fallen through the net in more ways than one. Dropped nto nothingness. Your list disappeared last night. Are you not listening to music either? No control. Control? What’s that?
I have too many words. They will eat me alive, they will eat me alive and feed on my corpse. None can appear here. Nothing appears here. Except hype. Hyper. Flooded with phrases that signify. Nothing. Not a word. Don’t say a word. I’m coming down soon. Coming down.
So I will whisper to the city from a fifth floor window. The not so distant transmitter will answer me with blinking red lights. So I will shout to the sea. So I will cross that bridge at dusk. I will do all these things and more. One day. Right now, though, all I want is your words back. And your words. And yours and yours and yours. Your voice back in me. Your mind back in me, if you can still find my soul. Immerse. Immerse. Immerse. Sometimes I think that if too many people let me immerse myself in their imperfect, perfect constructions, I might just drown for good. Or for worse.
Whispering a three-word phrase at one o’clock in the morning. Thinking about the drunkenness of things being various. Seeing square bracket dot dot dot square bracket and knowing that it all makes sense, even more sense than I want it to mean in the darkest corner of my all too human heart. Hearing “leave me a message, please” through the distant dust of tendril wires and satellites and never tiring of your voice. Despite the crackle, hum and breathe and exhale. Pause. Blink. Slow. Slow down.
Same as you. Just different.