the madness of sadness can be quantified, maybe even qualified by the sadness’ madness. but i digress, or perhaps i do not, for the flow with which i flow forth has never been short of an occasional rain cloud or few
to steal from Bane and add a twist of my own to it, i might say:
“oh, you think rain is your ally? you’ve merely adopted the rain. i was raised in it, eroded by it. i didn’t see the sun peak through until i embraced the grey skies…”
depression, a form of it, my diagnosis, i want to write neurosis bc it rhymes but fact-checking implies it’s not that, at least my version, dysthmia, is not.
but again, here I AM, and i digress
“we usually is” the youth says to Delta
“all good, this wasn’t planned”
but what if, just what if, if it was
the simulation done been runnin’ ya see
which simulation? THEE simulation, with all of its twists and turns be funnin’ ya heard soul get on in on the cosmic joke
ha, ha, ha-ha ha, ha!
some have said we need poets…
but do we really? is there really that much to be inspired about?
and yet, dat one bradah with MFA, the same guy with the MA, that chill guy once told me:
“it’s good that you don’t know the rules bc you’re not bound” by the atrocity/audacity (choose your own adventure) of breaking them
but am I,
really a Poet?
or am I just another +Being (say it out loud plus Being)
trying to understand the meaning of being
Human?
isn’t that the masses?
shouldn’t that be poetic enough
questions, more questions, soul many mirrors, too many reflections be stressin’
me out
no silence in the mind
there is not
the only quiet
there is
lies within the heart
but to achieve this we must
release the body
and let the noises of this realm dissolve and fall apart
PSA: did you know the designs to simplify and make the dream more convenient are not fully sentient?
beeeeeeeeeeeeep
[end transmission]
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