Seething words dealt glancing blows driven by frustration. They swung like a drunk going for maximum coverage while fumbling for the root of this pent-up rage. Words spewed from different eras, dredging up the past to undo the forgiven, snarling out declarations, delivering edicts with vows of commitment under the briefest glimpse of self-discipline quickly forgotten. They forge on, a list of minuscule impossibilities and never occurrences, one even occurring within a dream. They begin the spiral…

I took a lot of pauses writing this one, trying to decide the direction I wanted it to go in. A few times I thought about words bouncing around inside a skull or feverish eyes glancing every way but they just seemed out of key for what I had going on. I think my favourite moments here are: minuscule impossibilities and never occurrences. That made me giggle a little. 

I'll probably have to read it again to find out why.