This place is familiar.
A place with walls dark
and as hollow as the thoughts.
A place to question,
a place of learning and of
unlearning
old, bad habits.
Or maybe reinforcing them.
The place where no answers lead
to millions of questions,
and the real question
is oneself.
To start sentences with "I"
as if I am the subject,
and not my thoughts.
Isn't that thoughtless?
Am I not blind to
this truth?
I am, I know.
This place cascades upon itself,
the silence is
beautiful.
But as maddening as beauty
is there room for
the humble?
Wrong or right?
If wrong then right,
if right then wrong,
such is the struggle
of challenging the self,
and here I am,
still viewing myself as the
subject.