Irate clouds leave my mind overcast.
Forming a tempest in my hyperactive right hemisphere
even though I beg them to fade into calm like
tums in a glass or pop that’s lost its fizzle.

Unsympathetic,
arduous reminders of memories sweet - forged in permanent ink.
Or -- hope that this period of uncertainty too shall pass.

Either way, my thoughts have this sort of
morphine fascination with the tension deep inside me.
Internal addicts getting high at my demise,
Or -- a tolerance break hiding behind a viscose curtain of grief

Either way, I feel like I’m dying.
Or - maybe I’ve never been more alive.
Cause you know, pain is often perceived as pleasure
Stimuli are weird

Maybe I'm just afraid.
Stricken by the thought of separation
from what brought me to comfort
and losing part of myself.

Terrified of the ambiguity associated with change.
Terrified of giving my all just to end back at the start.
But existence is neither
cyclical, linear or spectrum-based
it just is.

I’m in control of nothing.
Which is the most liberating feeling
but also what’s rendered me paralyzed.
I guess I’ll just have to wait.