A rebel without a clue.

I am slowly building up to explode. I feel like the answer I have been waiting for is ready to present itself to me. I sense it is a final and certain destiny. It's just beyond me now, but I feel like it's in me. Some explosion of angst and frustration that means all I've lived for in 39 years is stoking the furnace of confusion and muddle. Every time I sit in company or near company I begin to panic that I will wobble and deflate in a stare or glance. Only today in Waitrose I couldn't act normally or inhesitantly when purchasing my few items: 2 mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, Maldon salt crystals and discounted sausages. Some guilt was on my face: like I was using a stolen credit card to purchase these items. I couldn't look convincingly into the cashiers eyes. I felt weighted down by manifestations of guilt. I'm surprised I wasn't also blushing. Blushing for my poultry fayre? I absolutely have no idea. I feel almost that the person I am facing might catch me ...

Today, what of it, that is left I brought you rocket, olives and bruschetta bread For me the stage was set for resting amongst the noises feeding my head Right amongst the section of architects stones stood such spitting scholar Closed eyelids and puffy face while waiting to face heavens appeasement The craft of which you speak hasn't levened cleavers leaving me dead and hollow. My pedimental marble is cold and unfeeling framed against a rattling voice. Fucking further than I forsaw from the distance of 5pm and 8pm.