How Little

How little we really know,

When a mind gets in a knot.

That goes into a dark place,

Whether induced by drugs or not.

Some unseen door in the mind

Has a latch that is swinging free.

Allowing lies to take on beauty,

Finding boredom in sanity.

Wanting, wanting; forever wanting.

A future being held at bay.

Becoming demented by default,

No matter what they say.

The mind being lost in clouds,

Seeing hope in some open refrain.

A craving for the unattainable,

When only persistent illusions remain.

Trying to erase shadows.

Feel the biting not the tasting.

Waiting for the fury to die.

To know the spoiling and the wasting.

Preferring psychedelic confusion,

As verity and lunacy ride in tandem,

Becoming a stranger to yourself,

All resolve becoming random.

Finding safety in delusion.

Striving to survive frailly.

Wallowing in each disorder.

Suppressing demons daily.

Whether left alone unseen,

Whether understood or not.

How little we really know,

When a mind gets in a knot.

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