Sir your circuitry is showing...how embarrassing

Most sensations, feelings, they just make…my…blood…stone.  My heart beats like a million pins falling, pushing concrete through my veins and I…cannot…move.  My mouth is a desert mountain, barren and unmoving, except that it is slowly being pushed away by the wind grain by grain.  It confounds, all of it, I contort and the flashes in my mind's eye blind me, shake me, crush me like the rockslide you rode in on.  Everything is blurred, like my eyes are filled with too much light and everything swirls together. Where has my breath gone, I am choking, but only so far beneath the surface where the humanity hides, far beneath the mirrors that bend the sun's light and shadows.  From so far inside through all the darkness, I can glimpse the world outside, feel my own cold perspiration and my hands now that of a crumbling bust.  There's always a touch, something to break it all down. It's a moment where you must consciously take control again, consciously make yourself breathe, blink, cursing in your head, just move, bleed, live again.  And that is what it is, those moments where you feel so much, it overfills and then it is nothing, not living it all, or plain living, speaking, thinking, laughing, are really the opposition of living. These are the dances of our face to act living into acceptable exhibition, when living is almost completely fulfilled within.  These are the hoped truths, that I am not just some strange monster among real people, that I force a connection on them to me, and justify it with subconscious.  Perhaps it isn't so, perhaps I am merely trapped within myself and those actions that others truly feel, are not machinery, but my own.  Constantly I feel like this island, like dry land where others are covered and warmed by water that has evaporated from me.  Such loneliness, as said seated in confusion, as said seated in fear, that I do not belong, or worse, that I do, that we all really belong and it is just easier to think us set apart.  If I am set apart, then I can validate feeding my selfish desires, closing myself away, hiding from anyone really knowing I am just as flawed, not more like the devil, not less like the saint, but just as much pathetically, beautifully human just like anyone else. God is it so much easier to explain acceptance only in deceit, then you have not to face a harsher truth than being  of a different species, but just missing that which makes you able to be loved or to really love. What cruel creator, that you would pass down to me, but that my heart that loves so much could be numb from it, or just dreaming of it, incapable and afraid.