©BurgsEye
Thoughts of anger, pangs of stress are a pair of migrating birds caught on a touch and go round flight path overhead my being. I can watch them independently and together, twisting, spiraling aero acrobatics. Sometimes I think they can't see me and I bury myself in my Aladdins caves full of inspiration, distraction, joyful noise and occasional static, hoping some of it sticks before the winged beasts hunt me down and carry me out to their nowhere nests and keep me hostage for days at a time.
In my cave I can stitch together another layer of thought -small patches in my almost complete second inpenetrable skin. Once encapsulated I will be safe. I know this by seeing the often good but passionless people ducking and diving beneath overhead dogfights of two birds vying to be seen & heard in as many minds as possible. Passionless pretending it isn't happening to them, telling their friends about it but telling themselves it never really happened until they believe it adding extra patch to their ectoderm.
All I gotta do is keep thinking without feeling until I have enough peices for my perfect skin which is a shell so that I can carry my cave -like a shield- with me at all times. That should take care of those darn birds.
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