Those Idle Hand Blues

I'm feeling frustrated and anxious. The apartment is all mine. To most people this could be a dream, to me, this is a prison. To which I am making my escape.

I feel all the old triggers being set off. I'm resisting the urges. Which makes the alone thing more difficult. Simple as the touch of another's hand. Oh, these days!

I've cleared up ideas with others and as per expectation. I am reading into things, which is fine. I just needed to know. So I'm not totally destroyed, I just know what it really means.

There's a suffocating feeling that comes. A mixture of cabin fever, feelings of being trapped in a burning car and watching the walls slowly close in around you. There is a mixture of defeat, but the urge to keep trying until the last minute always remains.

If I slip and quell my idleness in the only way I want to. I will know that I escaped this suffocation, but for only a moment. For it's getting these quick and sharp breaths of fresh air, inhaling this sky, that I choke more.

I am prolonging an inevitable that I could carryout and succeed with no results. Yet, if I do. Then there are the steps you have to follow up with. Oh, can you handle that gentle Iguana?

Until then . . .