sometimes

Sometimes I just want to feel the brutality of the frigid air against the skin of my exposed neck as I race down a dark road, the slow bass of an alternative pop song thrumming through my pulse .

Sometimes I just want to feel elsewhere, to transport to the the realm of external senses and in the process neglect the internal, for however long of a time I am able.

Sometimes, I want to breathe deeply instead of feeling my way around the depths of my mind and soul.

Sometimes I yearn for reprieve.

Sometimes, words discarded, all I want to physically feel is the tingling sensations of wind battering my hair about my face, my ears clogged with the sounds of melancholy from another soul aside from my own.

Sometimes my throat closes, my eyes following as my ears expand, absorbing.

Sometimes the internal numbness I invite, I desire it, I crave it, I succumb.

Sometimes.

Or should I say, more often than that.

More often than sometimes do I retract my emotional antenna and sink into the pillows of my eyelids.

I find myself here, often.

The winding, binding, captivating entanglement of feeling, suffocating my inward system to the point of sluggishness. Everting energy externally from within to surroundings. Everything slow and rhythmic, a perception of the currency of time.

Sometimes, I sway to the pull of momentum the car urges me to heed to.

Sometimes, I release myself into the sparse space I am subject to.

Sometimes, myself is enough.

Sometimes, at the very same time, it is not.

Sometimes, I find myself here more often than not.

Sometimes, I find myself lost.

Sometimes, through losing myself, I am found.