I’ve driven myself insane with aspiration,
and now without anxiety or misstep,
at the drop of a hat,
I’d wipe all I’ve become conditioned to know,
if it meant a moment with divinity.
In other words,
a maturing thought that pulsates,
that is the catalyst to accelerated achievement,
will have to mean erasure.
A vanishing if you will,
this self that does nothing but accumulate waste,
until the toxicity becomes default.
The dragging nature of growth,
as time juxtaposes my reconciliation,
and mocks my milestones.
Time is having its way with me,
and disappearing appears to be,
the only way to disarm it.
Ironic that I’ve become,
the ammunition against myself,
in the same breath,
poison and antidote,
in the minds courtroom.
Some call it schizophrenia,
a thousand more names and labels,
man will forever find an excuse,
for dealing with their state.
Still, erasure is easier.
Wesam El dahabi