Winding roads and fairy tales

junk mail and seasonal spirits

Nothing, empty; all the time

Cluttered half the time by words and numbers

Voices screaming, trapped in a place where no one can hear or see

I don’t know where my mind goes at night

 

Images hide from my subconscious during the day

But at night

No

They come out and play their deepest, darkest scenarios on the screen my eyelids provide

So vivid in color and image

So alive with emotion in the voices

But all is just a dream, once I wake

 

Again back into the void that is my mind,

Not yet empty, not quite full

Unattainable knowledge that chooses to hide in dark crevices of everyone’s minds

Nothing can escape from this

Nothing

The mind

The mind

The mind is a funny thing

Tricks of freedom and empathy

All but a waste of time, for those that think it is

My mind likes to play tricks on others and myself

Lies to be said to those that ask too many questions

Lies to myself if I ask to many questions

Truth to those that don’t want to hear it

Truth to those that already know of it

My mind is meaningful, powerful

My mind is weak and vulnerable

My mind is what I choose to make it

And I choose to make it all these things