Foreign

There is something excruciating about this thought. It's both mesmerising
and tedious. It comes and goes as it pleases, but sometimes it stays for
longer periods. When it does, I'm escaping the erupting world.

I feel freed by the mystics in its very vast forms through the instances when
it makes itself known. Encapsulated. Life persists to create the bridge, because
without it the music becomes too monotone. Repetition is when the illusion
distracts us.The time then presents itself for when you must perform the solo.
All focused on yourself and your craft, like art it creates, improvised in a foreign
state.

The feelings burn through you like shedding skin.

An honest feeling propelled by a difficult process.