crutches

The cause for conversation flows like fire in my mind, this burn that creeps in exponential passion to create and express an inner desire. So much of me fills with the gracious feeling, that supplicating contentment, the mother's milk of ideology, and yet there's still a vacancy inside. Resounding in a hollow echo, I understand the displacement. I feel closer to any emptiness than the surrounding accomplishments. Perhaps there is another reason; a tardive effect, creeping along and leeching from me my synergistic potentiality.