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Has your mind been heavy,
have you missed someone maybe.
Flip my mental pages, I’m
the sage of other people’s
you’re not alone in your
own insanity,
we’re all crazy by default,
so let’s flourish and embrace
our mental gravestones,
we’re dead inside, resurrection
for me is a way of diluting the demise,
the mind tends to be athletic
when I think I’ve handled it,
the noise is too loud
to be handling it,
engineered mind,
I’m always silent trying
to unpeddle it, I’m busy
wrestling me,
sometimes I’m in congruence
with my own indifference,
I’m always trying to defend
myself from the things
that I’m scribbling and rebuking,
these poems are vomits,
I’m always mentally puking,
I can be awkward, backward
and forward at the same time,
I’m too honest to be
enacting a stature of a redeemed poet,
so poet or no poet; minds will
be always violent, nothing changes,
maybe love will heal
those sores, but
insecurities tend to poke holes,
loose screws, can’t even screw
any soul; too many
judgments are spiralling,
the universe is always
messaging, too many
texts and I tend to keep
ignoring things,
I snap in myself and I’m broken
a bit too, it’s always clouded I
can’t always see the sky as blue,
scrap off my truths,
everyone is a hypocrite and I
can’t seem to be critically blinded too,
can’t shut this mind, I can’t be silent,
can’t meditate, my mind can’t
be educated through ignoring
the violence,
so I stand in the passageway
of my own mind, sit my
being and await the carnage,
I age well though, well
then you wonder why I’m
ordered in my words when
the mind is on fire and
is about to burst through,
I’m groomed by insecurities,
so I’m insecurity driven; OCD
can bring some bad vibes even if
you’re heavenly inclined.

I’m in my own sty,
I’ve learnt to handle
my own Skyfall,
in my mind I’m enslaved
by a philosophical pharaoh,
I guess I created my own
warzone, so close to a mental cyclone.
Falling angel, I’ve pierced
through the ozone,
I’ve brought more devils
to your mantle,
when I land please be gentle,
understand me before
you claim that I’m bad news,
don’t take these words
as proof that I’m sane,
I’m on a vertical plane,
and I’m always falling
for other human beings,
followed by fleas I’m dying within,
bowed a lot, now I carry a
bent spleen, uptight…
not even upright, stuck
in some ancient manual
on how to live pure life,
so find me and cuddle…
I believe I’m behind
and yet most ask me
to shine their paths
with my candle,
some ask for the blueprints
of my sandals, they wanna
follow my footprints when
they can’t hear me move,
so I’ll be the guy who’ll
never accept his front seat…
So I’ll blip and come back
when I’ve believed that my
words are true,
I’ll hold the hand of fate
and date her for my lifespan,
I just need to avoid the whole
life carnage,
neglect my age,
my immaturity can be
choreographed to remove
the focus on my words…

So I’ll cleanse myself
with tears when I can’t
penetrate my own demise,
I can’t be angry,
I’ll always be too nice,
too psychopathic, that’s
why I’ll write,
always sound right
and write some typical
rhymes to feel indifferent
in your space,
I’ll depend on my own facts,
I’ll detect conjured truths
to my own head,
I’ll find sanity when
I start to believe that the
remedy is my own mentality…

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Piotr Sokolowski

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

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