instinct

he was always a sick kid, used and abused by his enviroment. twisted like a towel prepared for snapping. scared like a bitch prepared for slapping. he was twisted, in his own thoughts. always begging for the world to make sense. scared that it never would. scared because he knew it should. his thoughts became cold and bold. he prepared his plans to make some things right. a radical, radically planning and opening of the eyes, but planning his own demise. a kamakazi of a mission. he let no one in on his secrets for he could not be exposed to soon. he waited for his chance, the perfect time to execute his plan of freedom fighting. a civil war between himself and his country, for that was as much as his narrow mind could grasp. time passed, sometimes slowly, sometimes too quickly for comfort. time passed. his relapses would come and go but always he fell back to his purpose, his core. his core beliefs. his conscience. the only god he knew. the only god he ever wanted to know, for instincts are what the world was run on before and language and then greed. before buildings, cars, pollution, envy, trains, planes, packaged meat, sliced bread, good head, soap, suicide, standards, fashion, gasoline, air conditioning. instinct is what ruled the world.