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Rated: · Poetry · Experience · #1921430
A musing/rant on the self
My grip is slipping, sliding down the drain

Heart and head, on polar opposites

What feels right is wrong and wrong is right

Day to day, everything changes



I am a battlefield

I wield my mind like a sword

that scores my heart and soul

My battle is my own



Tomorrow fades away, buried deep

As heart and mind collide

I am strong, yet weak all the same

I want nothing and crave everything



A plague of worry blossoms

It happens every time

I can neither win nor lose

I am my own enemy



Hear, bone deep, races

Through streets of discontent

If I could but bar the gate

The heart could win



But trust is fickle, she's unkind too

The gate stands wide as worry gallops

In mid-stride, my sword strikes

As mind rescues heart



And I begin to save myself



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