Buried once beneath pressing voices, it is boiling up like a rising jealousy. This is placement. The ascendant. Beating, beating, beating. A steady flow of analytical pauses burning up through every extremity you never knew how to use. This is placement. The ascendant. Beating, beating, beating. Every stinging conviction such a foolish man never knew was holed up inside him erupts. It is volatile and it is painful and it is promising. And it comes into you and it comes out of you and it’s beating, it’s beating, it’s beating. You can’t ever ignore it. No, a foolish man could not deny its presence. Couldn’t withhold its beating. You pace to wear it out and it lives in your footsteps. You blink to make it stop and every eyelash leaves a trail like you tried to shake your head at the stars at midnight. Yes, you can clench your fists so tight your nails dig into your palms and you bleed and the sweat pours salt into your wounds and there it is. There it is, terrible,consuming and inconvenient only because you forget who it is. You forget where it comes from and why it is there. You forget why it is within you because you are foolish. It is there because of you but you are not at fault for it. For fault is for the weak and it should not make you stumble and it should not make you stutter when you speak of it. When you speak of its beating, beating, beating. It is not a drum and you should not, you cannot march to it. It is not the blood in your veins or the heart that injects and protects and projects though that is where it lives and no foolish man, no man at all could drain himself dry of it. It will occupy the space on the floor where you try to leave it and it will grow because you will feed it and it will drown you because it knows you need it.