insubordinate

I can't tell if its a warm breeze or an ice-like feeling flooding my veins but the concentration I jot down in my fingertips trusted to follow instructions and consume any sound I make takes the other 4 senses away, the door makes none, neither does the floor...muscle memory.
These are the moments at which and only which i can concentrate enough to thrive.
Trained to be like a German Shepard and go against the rules, never.  the millions of chemicals swarming my body as I reach for the phone say otherwise.
In constant fight or flight it couldn't bother me thoughts come down to three, you deserve a break, what if you don't, and don't make a sound
The choice has bin made I step back inside, and constant regret swarms every bone replacing the chemicals, flowing as low as possible is every thought i should of had a minute before
I was always wrong, chances are I should listen to them for my own good, for that I could never fend for myself. Maybe i am addicted, not ill, surely not helpless but addicted. a rigid choice a problem to be fixed
the undeveloped brain is simply insubordinate