I wonder if one could vomit
their grey matter?
All logistics associated
with a relentless mind
solidifies in a manner
conducive to the metamorphosis
to place Kafka’s to shame
Why does one’s transformation
always focus on the onyx pitch?
Can we not evolve
in the presence of illumination?
Those moments of intensity
is when we are able to finally
“level up”
Despite the negative voices
and endured torture
There is a component
to life’s musical soundtrack
which allows the availability
to reign and advocate
for the inner
child frightened
to move
from the corner
they were placed in
For no other reason
besides a mother’s jealousy
in attempt to ruin their child’s life
You hear that?
it is the crash of FREEDOM
MY shackles now
being held
vacant
in the arms of the mist
Data Girl's Rabbit Hole 
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