disheveled sanity

Lost, it’s lost
the words I last wrote
about the emotional rope
off of which I now fall,
they’ve vanished and I know not
where I placed the damn notecard.

So silly, so jovial, perhaps even witty
my flight of thought
seems to have taken me.

But, oh, the days I could linger
with sanity in the park
and upon my finger.
Now every moment feels as though
every carb I eat
consume this skin covered meat.

Sit still, I say in the dark
and smelly room, only to find
I am not so shrewd.

Simple instruction, and consumption in moderation,
those beliefs in temperance
seem to only madden
as I determine how best to use
my tools of satisfaction.

But that cannot be a sensation
worth the trouble of a roller coaster through emotions,
conversations with inner monsters,
and the passively strong forces
of an insignificant nature.

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