Crying out for some kind of God
That doesn’t exist yet,
Lying here
Crumpled and lifeless
On the bathroom floor,
Peel me away from myself
So that I can extract
This overbearing consciousness
from my every waking breath,
Built these walls and this sink
And these tiles
Upon sunken soil,
Beaneath a crumbling roof,
And painted it white and blue
And called it home
To house the disruptive reasoning,
Slammed a sledgehammer
Into the foundations
And started anew,
Without consulting or consolidating any other soul,
Slammed down a padlock,
Secured the scope
and called it home,
To wash and flush
My tainted soul
Of the sins of an unsure mind
That trips into puddles
Of self-contaminated riddles
That I can never seem to clean and dry off
Not a happy thought but some stunning imagery.
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Haha my Lady Macbeth moment… Don’t you worry, in a happy enough place to post this and feel a sense of detachment from it
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