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Updated: Nov 13, 2021

The detachment from the self

Both figurative

And literal.

My human inclinations

No longer addressed.

A creature I have become,




With only one aim

I journey forward.

The long lost treasures of the past

I am hunting

Looking for a passage to my salvation

Looking for a route to guide me home.

To the northern star,

My fixed point.

To the lighthouse,

My guide.

I am a creature of disfigurations

Lost and alone

On the shore

Where the rigorous wind penetrates the marrow

But I am unfeeling.

Where does the wind blow?

I am unknowing.

They say ignorance is bliss,

But to what extent?

Stranded I am.

My individual parts scattered in the vast expanse of the sea.

Where is the hope if parts of me have become lost forever?

This disrupted mind

Has been subject to the constant battering of convoluted thoughts.

Spiraling left and right

Unstable and insecure

Exclaiming in a hubbub of “what could have been” (T.s Eliot)

And in a constant state of fear

Of making the wrong decision

So that the mind is in a constant battle

Pulled on by different ends of the rope

Where Jekyll and Hyde hold on to each extension

Pulling fervently



These monsters that dwell in the mansion of my mind

Are the most wicked and vile.

They know no bounds

They have exceeded every limit

Ungoverned despite their base endeavors

Engaging in violent demonstrations

Rebellious and unrestrained

There is no quelling the disruptions

Of these ungoverned thoughts

But only to accept

The situation

In which we found ourselves plunged in.

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