My mind is a mess. It aches for old friends, perceived in turmoil; hoping to lighten their loads. It fears over dwindling finances, facing that uncertainty about my next meal(s).
...and beset by body aches, and troubled sleep - it’s unraveling like a spoil of thread rolled off the mountaintop, with each moment adding momentum...
...leaving me to be a babbling brook, born of bedlam, no longer able to distinguish truth from fantasy from nightmares.
I howl at ye, wicked moon, for the disruptions we’ve created and the chaos we’ve nurtured, not sure if I drink deep of your lights with good intent. (Is that some spell, uncovered from my unconscious mind?)
No comments:
Post a Comment