Individual
irritations I attempt
to ignore as
irrational and
inappropriate. Albeit, they
insist.
Incongruous
and inconsistent,
annoying
ideas infiltrate and
inflame my
innards,
insulting
any intelligence.
I am
intrepid in my instability
and
irrationality, self-imposed
isolationism
and icy iconoclastic
immobility.
I am alone
in an inner influence,
incapable of
inviting another in to
investigate
the interior issues I
invest.
It is
irritating and infuriating to
idle in
insecurity and injury, yet
adept in interpreting
it as
idiocy,
immaturity, and ineffectiveness.
Incorrectly
I inscribe immediacy to
my
irritations and they become incendiary,
igniting an
influx of indulgent anxious
insecurities.
Inside, I
ingest an inexorable amount of
irritation,
imbued with inexhaustible
improprieties;
and yet, I imbibe it all,
inherently aware
of its impermanency.
Impossible
inconsistencies in identity,
I laugh in
spite of myself, involved in
the idiosyncrasies
of an inner-monologue.
I am
interestingly amused, and by my intonation,
less influenced
by irritation.
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