Emotions

Emotions
Tearing over the faintest thought of disappointment,
Testing the everpresent waters of despair,
Fearing what is the finality of the outcome that hasn't brushed the brink of the horizon...
yet still I am.
Seeing the unseen is a power I have yet to obtain,
Also untapped is the practice of patience.
It is almost if my skin was composed of solely nerve endings,
Each one responding only to pain.
Why must my sorrow be so present?
Is an emotion not just an adjective of a situation?
Is it not just the color of the cold disturbing your eye?
Why is it such everpresent nonsense corrects my pleasantness with the complete resolution of corruption?
Ask me now if I can even smell the next shift.
I can't feel the mocking of my body as I slop through the mundane existence of my task at hand.
Fear is not the issue...
Only the discomfort of my disposition.
It clings to me as if it is the stench of filthy dogs.
Clenched so tight to my chest as if my heart is going to explode...
Is it not?
Is it not my heart?
Oh now I see the true explanation.
It is my own misguidance of myself.
Guiding myself as if I was a blind man steering a ship directly over the falls.
Careening off the edge without the slightest thought as of why...
Yet the tear still hangs in the balance still wondering if it is worthy of falling...
Give or take, it is.
Shall it not release the tension that you have clenched so dearly close to yourself as if it was your saving grace?
It shall, but still...
Is it necessary?
Necessary is the approval of myself by myself, but still....
I must end this now, for it shant preclude my overall destiny,
For it shall not continue to draw upon me,
That I refuse to accept.