Mind Cycle

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 08, 2017

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Submitted: October 08, 2017

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I hate the ups and downs. The world is much darker when my mind refuses to allow me light. I despise the battle, the constant war with what I know to be true, what is true, what is perceived as true. The never-ending saga of whether or not to do what feels good, what I know to feel good, and making a decision not to. It is called a cycle, the term reminds me of something that should be associated with forward progress, not simply spinning in circles. Though that is exactly what it feels like, especially in the downs. Moving and moving, yet never changing place. My view of life, death, existence, is much more obscure than is usually indicative of my conceptions. There is no more out of sorts now than any other time, and there is a piece of me that is aware of this, however, it comes to mind much quicker that life is a desolate place were nothing holds of meaning or value or desire. The worlds I seem to reside are one of two, either my illusions driven by imagination and fanciful schemes, or perpetuated into a darkness beyond comprehension, cloaked with garbs of grievous notions, too exhausted to look up, and too dead to rest.

When will the two worlds collide? Make a home for my being that requires no shade against the light, and no light against the dark?

When is it, that I may be of rest?


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