Daddy told me there would be days like this.
Days when a man can’t control what he thinks or dreams about.
Days when he feels virtually insane.
Days when he sees both what is not and what is.
-Those days have come.
Vivid dreams, lucid visions… Incomprehensible but there.
Swirling down to the innermost depths of my mind.
Seeing and tasting colours and sounds.
How does a man stop himself from thinking?
How does he control his mind in these dark times?
How does he regain whatever inner strength he’s lost?
Writing brings fleeting peace,
As the poet feels most understood by his weapon of choice- the pen.
Wrapped in a cocoon of misunderstanding…
Yet still standing.
Insomnia arrested, emotionally deprived…
This is indeed the dark time my love.
Perhaps I yearn only to be understood.
As I understand others.
Perhaps I am indeed losing my mind.
-Just perhaps.
I’m not crazy. I’m just a little unwell.
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