~Manic~ / Anais Devietti
- eva
- May 30, 2020
- 1 min read
The open holes of wayward foes
Grow into my face and wrinkle me in a state-of panic.manic.ecstatic
functioning; yet barely awake- I’m here and I’m not- I panic but I joke about it all being an illusion. I fear that it is and this ground I stand on is nothing but a figment of my imagination.
A stagnation of the mind that soon will catch up with time; atoms forming physical perceptions i touch - I combined this with my hallucinations And create a manifestation, a fabrication- seeking pleasure out of my pain.
Finding higher ground each time I overcome the hurdle of giving up on reality and push through the boundaries of insanity- hoping something solid appears- hoping I don’t sink but swim deeper into my darkness.
And like a cyclical continuum into growth; repeating the cycle of sex, death, rebirth. Until I know how to take a blow to the heart; feel it in my chest, swallow without regret— use it to fertilise my turning, yearning, mind and soul. And release myself from the manic.
[published as part of pps/FORA #1]
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