It’s a familiar sensation; the sticky charge before a thunder storm; the nagging feeling that something is missing. Some third arm or leg has been amputated. Some secret portion has been stolen, perhaps it’s my soul. I’m like a three legged dog, or a cart without wheels. I’m going nowhere; nowhere is where I am. I’m bleached out, fading away like an old photo left out in the sun. Something crawls inside my skin – electric crank bugs, dirty great cockroaches. I’m turning inside out; I’m pouring out onto barren ground, puddled on the floor like a pool of vomit. That missing piece must be my lynchpin because I’m losing my bearings and sliding off my axle. There is no steering this juggernaut, no turning back to safer ground. Blind on the inside; I’m a collision waiting. I’m a wrecking ball on course for destruction; I’m a derelict building awaiting its fall. I don’t believe in this, I don’t want it, but it’s too late – my pieces have scattered and I am undone again.