Fear blaring, negative, scaring thoughts…
Of what others think of my own mental trauma.
Bit by bit, poking into my living room,
With only a tablet to block me out.
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Safe from afar, you couldn’t take me with you – even if you wanted to…
Not yet…
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Thought bears down through cartoon roars, kids noise and a real lack of patience.
Unbearable psychosis, in the safest of war-zones.
One step from the slaughter, no sign of tipping…
Not yet…
————————————————
How close to the end are we…?
Just one thought each from tripping.
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Did All unbearable suffering start this way?
With resent, with anger, with hatred… of love’s purest gift?
Why are we still fools for this errand?
To multiply, to sail so close and deftly surf the parental breaking point…?
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Article by damianmarksmyth