Rage, inner fury and built up pain. I've completed the circle again. I was almost ready to transverse great distances this morning to lay waste to those who have wronged me. Instead I came in to finish my western blot.

There is no escape.
No completion.
Nothing but cycles of of beacoup rouge.

I am at the surface. I hate the surface. I want to be burried beneath shells of import and intrigue. Down and down in my own sea of chaos.

Let me sink.
Life lines are the death of me.
People pull my back from the edge. Away from the precipace so that I may fall into their crater.
Entrapment, sealed in from all sides as the world gets smaller and smaller.
I need an ocean, but I hate open water.