abstractism

I was brought up in an autocratic family.
Submerged since birth in an almost vile liquid of authoritarianism.

Close to 30 years in the jar. I feel pickled by now. Almost turgid.
Preserved in a state of inertia and ensconced in a bubble of nothingness.

Emotionally rich but clueless. Mentally adept but clueless.
The mind seeks reprieve yet knows not how.

I slip and slide. Within the rut.
It is said when preserved food jars traverse past their date of expiry, naturally built up gases from within forces the jar cap off in a somewhat explosive occurrence.

The jar has been shaken. Not stirred. More gases build. Pressure is rising.
Albeit at slow rates. In the meantime. The dams are open.