A conflict crippling beyond my will,
My mind, my own capacity,
Abating to the point of dread
A broken soul, now broken inanity

The words I can't resist to restate
Again and again and about
Can I have the will to keep it--
The meaning, now to saturate

I sit in my muddled state of disarray
Contemplating the worst--
Or perhaps,
Just honesty

I love my scattered, esoteric mind
I love to squirm as I think at night
Alone, I know, not just in presence
But in ethos, judgement, sense--all the rest,

Still who can help but want another
A mind to love for lonely days
Any mind vaguely the same, just wise
Who could think in ways of deep insight

Can both be given?
In my life of ungraciousness
My world of willful sorrow
My feeble ways of petty days

A weight held fast in the heart

That's what my conflict is made of.