Impulse is jumping through the hills to fly away.
Aand banging over the hardest stone
broken apart,
Realizing youhave no wings.
Climbing over the chair,
with rope tied through the ceiling
with hanging your head,
knowing you will not breathe again.
Knowing you will not smell the rain,that touches the sand evaporating vapours through your nose,
through your olfactory nerves,
through the dendrites to the axons
circulating over the cerebrum.
Hitting hard your innocent love,
Knowing they will be back soon,
healing their deepest wound.
And Forcing them to love you again.
Shooting the sharpest knives of your words piercing through the softest heart.
Making them feel the worst while hurting them the most.
Thus, impulse is settling down at rest with a complete devastation and mess..