The rustling of autumn leaves stirs the restlessness within me and brings forth the savage discontent of a caged beast. The leaves crackles like the whip, cracking the beast of want alive, and I can feel myself bursting with an energy to stalk something – something so quiet but so fierce that burns like a flicker at first that quickens to a rage. A rage of my mind for a thrilling stimulation to take me far, far beyond, a bursting of my soul for something higher, some distant blue that transcends the dirty brown clumps that I stand on, and a desperation in my limbs to leap outside of skin and bones to be of more substance.
I am taunt with a bursting, a pressure to escape, a desperate urging for me to elude the looming dullness. The dark clouds of dull days, stringent people, a staleness of stagnant gene pools of thoughs, ideas, and minds threaten to cloak themselves around me. I watch the dark clouds of them. They advance en mass like a black cape ready to encircle their ways around me. I pace in watchful suspicion and restlessness – the beast within me rumbling it’s quiet menace – and I know that I don’t belong here.