A Dark and Secret Core

To move through time yet Time not move. To touch a thought that thought to prove, that Time itself is thought alone; a thought removed. To count the years in images both lost and caught in frames of mindscape's floating mist, that hovers at the edge of thought in dreams of lips I've kissed. To touch that youth of yesterday that ran five miles without a sweat and flew the world in search of sights with racing heart and baited breath. Head-down plunge in freefall flight where time stands still amongst the clouds, and falling eyes that saw the truth behind the fears of ground-based crowds. Seeing Death round every bend and knowing that one ounce more speed will tip the fragile balance held in check by thought-out deed. Flying outside envelope to induce spin that once induced revolves in cartwheel loops of untried fun. Self-destructive tactics when my life becomes routine, enables me to start again with slate that is wiped clean. Inward spirals pulling from a dark and secret core, give no clue to end-game as I'm dragged along without shame down the twisting, turning, bore. Increased speed brings crushing g that pins me down yet sets me free, to fly those inward spirals and expand the inner me. Mind-games playing in my head remind me that I'm not yet dead and force me on to deeper thought in search of meanings never taught. Writing now without an end, not knowing what's around the bend, yet hoping that the truth will lend itself to me. But Truth is rarely laid so bare that eyes can see its texture fair, so end I must without a just and valid purpose for the start of this, save self-indulgent questioning that one day may bring answers to a long-held, burning, wish.