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  I sit there waiting my turn, something that was filling me with anger just fills me with the thought that maybe just maybe I am a dead man, maybe just maybe there might be a chance of me actually scaring him off, but that's worse because I will be sitting here pondering that scare for the rest of my life almost making me wish I wasn't living in they/them for the rest of my life, I feel like I'm not even living my life right now. The what if's scare me as I sit here on my throne made of stone, in an apartment complex where I own the whole thing. Right there, right at right of my view I see money piling up and the thought that it will be useless I don't know how to feel about it, would I care if I lost my money today or tomorrow, it almost feels like bloodmoney, I can't enjoy something if I feel like right now I'm not even living my life in the first perspective. I can ponder all day but all it will do is make it clear whatever I say right now is correct, because the paranoia creeps in just a tad bit from time to time scaring me, like as if I were an obedient dog of sorts. It disgusts me what man I became, a man would be more worthy than the me I see before me, but I have a chance at leaving ending all this, however if I were Neova right now after loosing all that I had I would just say to myself "even if I hate it, I am too deep too quit", while I haven't lost anybody I have a chance at leaving and living my life, the difference is my fear wont let me, it wont even let me move away from this chair, this chair strapped with my ego, pride and everything that makes me well me. I keep scratching the itch that isn't there but it feels nice, just when I finish my itch in one place another place is open. My mind wanders from philosophy to the architecture of my house, and then to the clients that owe me money next month. My foot is paralyzed, and taking so many days off would surely cut my loan in half because half of my roles will be terminated for taking a leave and being absent for too long. After that my thought wanders off to being engrossed in being another form of living, maybe a tree they get cut but a new one appears, maybe a bird they fly like me but get tired of the flapping of wings, maybe the plates I wash would be nice, but I end up feeling like a servant to them sometimes and end up smashing them to the ground when I'm angry and feel insecure. Imagine I died because someone else felt insecure about themselves. Then my heartbeat drops it feels like, even if I don't know I even have a heart, the thought of being hunted forever scares me and I become paralized again. I say move to myself in my head but I can't budge, I don't feel hunger so I have no urge to survive even. Something pulls me back on that throne of mine, like small hands knitting me to the stone, my shirt too the rock behind me and I just accepted it. Sleep, I never sleep because I don't want to die, I have the urge to survive even if I don't feel hunger just like a mere mortal, I don't want my life taken from me because of another, I wanna kill myself when I want too, but how will I? And so I never sleep, the end of my poem.

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  The disgusting sweetness of my serenity. Fin.