what use to be, and what is, between my palms.

imagine holding
a block of wood
every twist is
studiable
and it doesnt scare you at all
you can weight it and
measure it
and start to learn its patterns of behavior
with time the wood that has inhabited my palms
with time everyday
I come back from school
I no longer want lunch and tv
I want a bathtub
and quiet

the wood
is no longer wood
and it loses
uniformity
and shape
and structure
and then
whatever it is between my palms becomes
so
so absolutely terrifying
every bell ring in school
every sun ray through my curtain
every new page
of whatever book that may or may not
single handedly set my brains
on fire
can startel this unknown material between my palms
and I dont even know how to hold it anymore
gently enough as to not
break it.



most of the questions
the big questions of the universe
are highly mysterious
unanswerable
with  out uniform
terrifying
and one of the only things
keeping us alive
and willing


I do not burst and die
every car ride to and back from school
of utter mundane boredom
because
I have no fucking clue
whats between my palms
and every day
I get to unravel
though with immense fear
rebirth.


lately
I may not have anything
but fear

but
fear
has kept me more alive
than any known
block of wood.