cyclical self-mourning

i want to die again
it often stops
as much as it starts
rotating back on my track
like a swinging pendulum
a chrome like thud in the back of my throat

how can i pin point what i can, could and cannot feel?
no word is as clueless as i
how do i configure my letters into sounds
sounds into words
and words into thoughts
which convey the static which stifles each of the connections i so brazenly feel

how can i feel so far away
each push backward is a placement less forward
i can't answer for myself but my body still feels it
i feel like a placard
all i'm doing is blocking and shielding and separating and hiding from the thing i am so fearful to be
or already become
many moons ago
or several moons in the future

i can feel an anger i once could never feel
it has personified itself towards the front of my skull
i have become the angry man
a child once feared
he's parked himself on a bench i despise
one that's fashioned out of branches and fickle distraction
how am i going to keep going
the only thing stopping me from stopping is the affect i'll have on others
but what about myself?
how selfish can i let myself be

only when there is nothing
there is nothing less free