A mind parted into fragments is not unlike a mind not so—but is. Shattered mirror still reflects but each shard loses a part of its essence, highlighted in the distance of the cracks, of the depths, of the chasms, of an abyss. Some days lucidity shines bright, fills the cracks; other times blackest sludge of darkest night seeps through and obscures the sun. No daylight in the late nights when kept awake by silent cacophony: damned self-confessions at the bedside. A whirlwind in the confines of a not-walled room with too many doors. The music is too loud; try to get off the carousel if you can. Just pick a road, perhaps, and see where it leads, as long it leads away from tottered and teetered grounding.
Ex Tempore LV
M.M. — 04-Jul-2013
No comments:
Post a Comment