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I
feel drugged.
My introspective meditation exists in the mind of the me
I have yet to me. I'm entirely incapable of stabilizing
my own thoughts, forcing the complexities of my reoccurring
realities to depend not on the birds of a feather but the
image of them flocking together, relying on the accepted
influences of my "predecessors". The elements,
or the recipe, to me have all been suspended, chained to
the unforgiving walls of self-discovery. Vines of
insanity grew continuously downward, haunting and stealing
my breath, reminding me of the debt I stand before,
As I feel stranded.
The words expressing my interpretation of life dance whimsically
across the childish imagination behind the blind man's smile.
I find myself living, or acting out, natural contradictions.
Some say I make sense, some don't. Because along this
road are critics with "constructive" analogies.
"When you chase your tail, you gon' end up noticeably
digging yourself into a hole. And when it rains, you're
going to drown."
Dig myself into a hole? That mean I'm a bitch.
I feel misconstrued.
Opportunity knocked just as I fell into a cryogenic sleep.
Now the beauty, in the radiance of natures best recedes,
appearing to me as the silhouettes of trees swaying across
the walls of my mind. (Seems I've come to so many
realizations me leading me to so many questions.)
I guess, in the midst of this multiplying internal chaos
there is a chance for change, though I have ever known was
here again, and again, and again.
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