Falling

This isn't the urge
rooted in rising
chest tension hollow throat
dry mouthed automatic
yearning; higher
processes craft each
overfull heartbeat.
No one stimulus,
triggered by random
hopes of vague
nature. Help me.
My mind is not my own.
Each cravings melts
away under another
ahead of comprehension;
examined, need is gone.
Or so many crowd
no one soul can satiate
the overflow. Help me.
My mind is not my own.
Lacking a part
the whole is surrendered-
every want is a condition
of another. Spinning
in cyclical spirals
down the coils of
Death, my mind cries
Help me.
My mind is not my own.