That ?' ing Voice (Personal Rant Story)

That ?’ing voice calls out, the one with no directional  internal entity. Calling out, See it?. . . See it?. . . This reality. . . This reality isn’t real! Reality doesn’t taunt at your sanity, It doesn’t haunt before you the past. As though it wants to bind you to it like a captive, in need of penalization. From birth to mental death, upon a brig’ d penal ship; as though, you had no right to take that first breath. Tormented by every breath dared taken, released and expelled.1

Questioning the present coincidences that lay before us,  like a welcoming mat laid down before our feet that says right this way; Please,----> To the domain of paranoia! 2

I find myself lately pausing, to listen and give notice to this voice. As my need to fight for some sense of sanity, slips from me. As each old emotion once disconnected from me, runs up to me, slapping me in the face. Saying here feel this, and feel that, and I don’t want to feel that; However, they have already slapped me with that. Slapped by it, and I can’t remove the engraved hand prints that have been slapped into my mind, onto my  mind, and it’s all happening way to fast. 3

As my thoughts slip and fall up and down like a sandglass, and I want to break this sandglass in half giving half to the moon and half to the sun as I slip from the sands, sinking below into the sea of this mind where I can never return to the conscious shores of the sand where the winds gust and stir up the sands. Slapping and scarring the mirrored glass of my mind.4