censor (unfinished)

i sometimes want to censor myself
mute phrases, my laugh and those things i dont even notice
impulsively singing, tapping
(theres a girl in my psychology class that always drums her fingers, but i swear she doesnt notice a thing)
it feels like a rope round my heart
something pushing at the sides of my head
and some day ill just...pop...
silently from collecting all my "faults"
and scatter my movements amoung the ground
like seeds
an explosion of energy and unacted consequences
unframed concequences
all these little things, tallies, concious maps of behaviour
this and this eqauls, but it is plausable
that i think too much, apply too much
contain and box up, dust layers and moldy dew
let it linger as i pick it slowly apart
sticky, seperating, foul smelling gack i choke on through fear of waste
every moment must be spent, and drenched in meaning
so i never catch my sleeves
so i never just let be