Circular motion moves best.

My mind has its limitations. There is only so much it can hold. But everything seems to pushing it beyond the edges.

When there is that, there is that again, I lose sight of my priorities. Everything becomes a blur. What exactly are we? Frail beings with malicious hearts, or malicious beings with frail hearts? Too difficult to fathom because to each, their own.

If only thoughts were like creases on my trousers. A glide of the iron straightens everything.