Sometimes, the words don’t come.
The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.
I am left with nothing to say.
There is a beauty in the broken mind.
Like an abandoned building taken by nature.
It is not that my mind does not work.
It is that it works too fast,
And I am left behind,
Scrabbling in the dust,
Desperately seeking a connection,
In the discarded fragments of thought.
I am fighting a losing battle.
I fear the white flag will soon arise.
And signal the end.
