The Whole Hole Returns Wholeheartedly

My thoughts are racing, almost yelling at me to do something. Just something that will make these circles actualized in a presence of social worth. Retreating, I'm finding it difficult to hold on. Suddenly, I'm slipping back into the hole, the bad habits, the thoughtless thoughts and in differential distance. I'm becoming the distance and walls have been re-erected so fast that I'm caught in the middle of the blockades. Half-in, Half-out...incessantly falling from the sky and crashing with the tides. I'm crying and stopping and blocking and wrecking and writing and wishing all the same. So well hidden, so well controlled, so long hiding, and so adjusted to adjusting. Breaks. Break Away. Breathe.
The words and confessions so far into my throat that the oxygen has stopped mid-escape. Between the bars, my catharsis is silenced and sneaking. The hairs on my neck stand as it breathes for me and becomes me. I feel the retreat and I feel the silence. Studying. I'm starting to study again, that vow of silence sleeping upon my lips in hopes of a discovery; the same of which strategic conformity alongside deception steered so long ago.
No one spoke, just as I did not speak. We acted. We acted like everything was fine. We projected that binding as far as the glue did hold whole. We projected the whole when the pieces fell and we were left what we perceived was the whole but was only projection.
We slid. Slide 1 *click* 2 *click* 3 *click* 4... the pieces scattered on the floor with all to see and none to hold for they were no longer pieces---as pieces can be only that which construct a whole and that same whole was what stared us down from that elusive wall, was it not? We stared back blankly at that whole hanging down the wall. We stared quite through the hole purposively.

We pinned down that wall with that whole; squared to the corners of the wall and frame, squared to the binding background, squared to the corners of our eyes and the telos of our soul. Yet, still not quite right in it's squareness it remained, with the remains forgotten beneath it. And this is how it ended? Purposively. Without resolve and without fight....but with the frightening epiphanic moment that the whole was not right, no matter how squared or opaque or pinning it was to that wall. The whole was just a hole, that didn't hold at all.

And now...now I begin to fall. The whole and hole so blurred that seeing is no longer believing but feeling--that pit that drops inside of you when everything begins to break, when the cracks tear further along the surface, and the calm settles over the nerves. That feeling of non-existance or more so wrong existence; where you remember stable ground but as far as you can tell you've been falling forever--that feeling. That one where your pulse begins to slow, your breathing shallows, and every muscle in your body begins to relax, just as you realize you might need to brace upon that fast approaching impact? As you fall quicker and quicker and harder and faster, it's that feeling of a sickly sweet smile and the muscles that hold it up on a falling face. The feeling of never returning again. The feeling of complacency. The feeling of hiding your hands, never to touch or be touched again, never to taste nor smell, never to fly but only to fall.

This is the feeling of a whole hole returning, wholeheartedly.