Is it wrong to not being able to control of all emotions, that runs through the body; unable to understand the outcomes of them.
As they just run through, upon the senses outside the skin; react what’s within.
So such again; what does it mean, for those or all . . . who can’t control them?
A sign of weakness, that relies being human; or to that of an abnormal mastermind?
A weakness; a strength, which on is it they we all done in verves?
Question upon question, no straight answers; not even wacky kind to be seen.
Shock of this, comes blindly to thee; as that as sleeping on the cold sun.
Tears fall in frustration, randomly and welcoming; a degree where it’s a squadron sickness.
To feel nothing, comes in all; but a reaction . . . nothing more nor less.
We fall and break, form and bend; flesh is the rubber band about to break from stress.
In a snap it’s done for, just as emotion; snap and done for.
It’s out of ours . . . if one thinks it, holding it and let it play; control is something that has rule book.
A rule book that is easy misread, misused; to even be burned if coming to it.
Following it or not, relies on the owner; to let them run you or bind you.
Is the band breaks, is it for the better; or so that we are all dumb as we come off as?
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