Thoughts.

Wed, 01/23/2019 - 06:16 -- M.ryan.

I get thoughts. 

 A lot. 

These thoughts aren’t something you’d ever want.

They crawl slowly through your brain.

They take there sharp fingers and grind them into the flesh of your brain.

You start having other thoughts that might be floating above the thoughts that are CRAWLING on the ROOF of the FLESH of ur brain, but these thoughts don’t get noticed.

They stay for a small amount of time. 

Floating above, far away, but close enough to reach if needed.

 

Some reason they’re never needed.

I need them but I feel they’ve drifted farther away.

And those fingers can’t latch off of my flesh.

It can’t unclaw the hand and reach for the needed thoughts.

So they stay.

The finger holds a good grasp, Causing my brain to become poison.

Now it’s full of the posion where it just stops.

The needed thoughts have gone.

The finger grasp is loosened and let go.

I don’t feel or hear the thoughts anymore.

They let go of me cause there was no more of me left. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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