I feel the terror of acknowledgment
My whole mind and body, thoughts and beliefs
Have been fabricated by cruel trauma’s pretence
I’ve been living my whole life in the narrative of the past tense
See that colour, glimpse that number?
Awaken thy devil’s idle slumber
I remember staring, into that stud of a groove,
Piercing the wooden ottoman,
Piercing me
Piercing you
Pierced, never mind the yells: ‘No!’
Flashback to the now- is there a true now?
I walk past the serenity of a Chestnut Tree’s blossom
Conkers drop,
Peel the shimmer of smooth beauty
From the spikes and the shells of a defensive, mother of protection
Twist
Be spiked
Spike back
Throw upon one another the smooth shine on tree seed
Rape the potential
Yet watch those trees still yet thrive.
Mind-in-motion 