fingernails

my gut is telling me to run. its been to long in one place. everythings too still, too confined. this isnt right to feel so buttoned up. these constipated thoughts dwindling down my spine, leaving my body with a stomp of my foot. im sure somethings coming to an end. this quiet, has to die. i feel it in my palms, the sweat and angst tearing up my hands. illegibly i tried to write this down. but this computer seems a fix for my trembling hands. this is worse than depression, this lifeless existence. sitting and containing, burying and rebuilding. i once thought this turmoil strung my life together. yet peoples expectations of you have no matter in your spirit. your life demands an internal possibility that you can only concieve yourself. you cannot live by others standards, yet everyday there are swarms of lives who've duplicated the likes of others to match their priorities. maybe life isnt about living like others, or fulfilling you desires through a pinhole of anothers. maybe its about finding something inside you that becomes a realization of everything. you cant understand unitl you dont. you cant find what youre looking for unitl youve lost it. but loosing it has become lifes tradgedy. no one tyakes the time to find the peices of their life, and put them back together again.