It is always a strange and troubling  feeling when the world fixates it’s eye on you, beckoning some currently unknown answer and expecting you to hold the key like an audience waiting in the dark for you to turn on the lights, but they don’t know who you are. 

Perplexing how that happens often, and why one would stand the torture. I guess it’s because with it comes elation.

I would like to hold the pause that comes before the storm, because there is always a storm down the road.  I would like to live in that pause as I sit watching my thoughts run through me while the curtains move through a breeze in the door.

I am happy in this cocoon of controlled silence, absent of the sweat that nobody sees beneath my quiet anxiety, furiously shuffling thoughts around from one corner into the next, following the signal flow of a map nobody else can read. The cocoon knows no map, only stillness.

Still in this stillness I find I am caught up in all my devices, enwrapped in delusions and dreaming. 

It seems I cannot put the fire out of myself so I guess all that’s left to do is let it burn.