I weep

My mind

Does creep

Into the day.

I find

That by

Not thinking

I get by.

I slide,

Run and

Eventually

Hide

From all that

I know.

This show

That I present

Is nothing more

Than a charade.

This,

Becomes my tirade.

My being

And nothingness

Is less than

I had ever imagined.

I must go,

This I know.

There is no pill

To cure this ill,

This malaise

Self-imposed

Charade.

12/08/2008

Author's Note: ... recent stream of consciousness.....

Posted on 12/08/2008
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