Stalkers That Are Stalking You

I'm not the one who gets Matrioshkyas in the mail, Sir. I know my irrationality is irrational and that is what makes it worser. I know my emotions come from my brain as a result of chemical reactions and electrical impulses but the ache in my chest is like a belief in god, somehow. I know my heart doesn't really break, it just feels like it does sometimes. I used to want brains that could explain any feeling. Brains that would be faster than the rush of the flood. That could code blue lockdown my imagination at the slightest slight. But these days I'd be pleased as punch just to have effective damage control. I just want to be melted down or retrofitted so the white noise of my thoughts can be quieted. So I can have a little peace of mind. So I can love you better. It wears me out, the human condition: ambiguity of emotion, my defeatism, your fatalism, weakness, fault, mortality, consummation, transformation, starvation; the Culprit North. I am too very sick of my chrysalis stage and I want so badly to be your deserving monarch but I am afraid that all I am is a bee with no sting.