Never have I wanted more,
More desperately than this,
To find myself amongst this thorny path of densely clouded mist.
The windows of my soul,
They know not what to see.
No longer can than they filter deception from reality.
What is it to be real?
To see, and hear, and touch?
Are things not so tangible not considered to be as much?
And the things I know, I know..
Are they really true?
Or is it merely false inspiration infecting my point of view?
So lost am I, a wanderer,
In this foreign land I tread.
My heart is burdened heavy in this Valley of the Dead.
So I hide pieces of my heart,
A many places along my way.
That I shan’t worry of whom, I’m sure, it could and would betray.
I’ve hidden them, so well, in fact,
I cannot find them anymore.
Forever lost in waters beyond the tip my ore.
If only I could see clearly,
If this fog would dissipate,
I could return myself to my much simpler, former-state.

Logic is to illogical,
As nonlogical is to me.
As I am but to know what is to become of me.

I am my own conundrum,
A puzzle, likely, never to be solved.
I wish someone could make sense of me before I do dissolve.

Written May 11, 2011


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