Hypothetical Dusk

Like a cold-blooded sociopath

I stalk through the twilight

Approaching my moral

And philosophical issues

With the logic of a brand new calculus textbook.

Jack the Ripper doesn’t have anything

On my reasoning ability

The attempted murder of conflicting ideas

Inside of my skull

A Freudian Thunderdome of

Moral relativism and utilitarian

Debates and inner dialogues.

Sadly, the homicide of a negative thought

Is much scarier than one would hope

That being said

I fortify my emotional arsenal

With large words that have no meaning

Taking cover between the things that

I have read and the things

That I hope to be true.

A metaphysical menace

Coaxing my own fears out

And into the spotlight of what I choose

To think about in my free time,

Those damned nightlights.

I wish that my own conclusions

Give me substance the way

That a dying star gives birth to a

Black hole; sacrificing what temporary light

Shined for the infinite obsidian of neutrality.

When I feel especially hopeless

Bordering on catatonia

Quiet and observant, processing

The excess of depressing information

I worry that maybe

I’m not as far gone as I had previously assumed.