I was in Doubtful

At night and a penetrating chill
In my red blood cell granules
In life I don't understand why likewise
In tomorrow that will be a soft whisper
In my ear or maybe slap me.

I'm still waiting for the dumb routine bias.
I'm still waiting for the storm.

If a paradigm becomes the norm,
We are trapped within the boundaries.
Finish off imagination,
Confined in the name
Of the place and time.

And the dimensions changed.
But the old ones passed
Without my prior review
And forgot to mark the themes

And it will repeat itself becomes
De Ja Vu. Occurs continuously,
Until it locks into the pores and vessels.

It soak into the channel
And burst arteries
Accompany the course
Of the blood evenly
Until I no longer aware of;
the dimensions has changed

The decisions  had I attribute
To the strong pillars of protest.

When the breeze came,
They danced with ridicule.
No matter they are true or not;
Decision is decision.

The wind was very easy.
Then the storm came.

The ropes on the pole began to ravel.
The knots were destroyed
And the pillars were weakened.
My various decisions on the pole,
Fell to the ground littered.
Nestled away.
It turned into a puzzle.

And some slap by the storm
Now, I was in doubtful