oh my wretched,
my beautiful door knock,
ever abated breath,
running from myself,
to find myself, in myself.

consciousness is punishment.
but we call upon it,
the wakeful amongst the sleeping.

once smitten,
admitted into the wilderness,
of self reproach,
forever aware,
forever angry,
never a thought goes by unpunished,
a dungeon of torture within,
to bloom fields of roses with-out.


what makes me who I am,
who we are?
disturbed sleep,
stay up, stay bothered, stay disturbed…

this consciousness,
inner talk,
always blameworthy self,
this is inner health…
so healthy.

so many people can’t.
yes it’s wretched,
an inside world,
but how much better outwardly,
we are to humanity.

they receive our mercy because we’re unmerciful on ourselves.

you can’t sleep,
you can’t rest,
because your soul and mind is active.
woe my restless heart,
nay, I salute you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s