When your #1 weapon has been taken away,
what do you do?
How do you cope?
Like a knife that's been dulled.
Sometimes no whetstone will aid it.
I've no implement to strike with.
The iron is cold and dead.
Left alone in the vast quiet nothing of my mindseye.
Alone and unattended.
Jaws been flapping since I escaped
the watery primordial ooze of The Cave.
Ranting and rambling for anyone to hear
for as long as I could remember.
But primarily to please myself. My self.
The ocean of uber consciousness crushes on.
Flooding the shores of knowledge, inescapable tides rise.
Drowning out the sands of reason.
Nowhere to go with my thoughts, but deeper inside.
Endless cycles of analysis. Paralysis. Ouroborus.
Mostly by a design I am not equipped to fight.
Perhaps if I listened more carefully to others
I might hear more than the rumble of my heart, lips and lungs.
My ego and intellect imprisoned by a virus.
It's not sympathy I crave.
Adulation is what I need to survive.
But a soul on display is hard to appreciate
when all you hear is so much bullshit.
It's your actions, not words that make your heart true.
Stop kidding yourself for one bitter minute.
And learn from this one thing, if anything.
The cost of bulimic mental expulsion
is the absence of the very understanding
you most desire.