My Father Was Not A Glass Maker

     How do you shroud your lack of feelings or sensations from the outside world, so that your numbness and dearth of cerebral thoughts do not materialize? Never looking in the eyes of people who matter the most, for fear that they will see right through you to the hollow futility that resides. The only emotions you feel are seemingly egotistical in relevance, yet you lack the very fundamentals of being selfish in such a way. Elusive gestures and words portrayed in audacity likeness could not be more falsely interpreted. Incessantly masked indifference plastered all over your already veiled face for the expressions have melted away along with the emotions, leaving a concealed memento in its place. My perceptual self-atrocity streamlining through my veins conjoins with altered meta-cognition. Illogical psychological methods unremarkably bare the self-induced stupor of outlandish reactions to be expected in any given situation for meta-reasoning has taken over. The sullen visage welded to the once accurate and lively details without purpose of execution. I find it hard to comprehend, talking myself into circles of feverish nonsense in hopes of things to disentangle in the nadirs of my mind. For my inner thoughts are the only things continually working, leaving me maladroit in the hands of compassion and benevolence, deeming me a clandestine Nomad in a land of punitive detractors. The guise I have worn as a personal sanctuary has gradually mutated into a life altering costume of an inadequate junction with an unaccountable rationalization. I am stranded in limbo, unable to figure out how to amputate the pall that has implanted itself upon my essence at this point. I will not go down without a fight, for this transparent existance is no longer working for me any longer.

Chasity