poetry

When You Ask What I’m Thinking

Lost in the hallucination of my mind

where reality is Schrodinger’s experiment –

both fact and fiction are one and the same –

I traverse the land without a map.

How can someone keep track

of such an endless, unstable landscape?

I sure as hell can’t –

but is hell even sure?

Straying, trying to find the path –

a path, any way to navigate this place

with some fragmented level of certainty,

I want to unlock the box,

to figure out what in this whole mess

is actually real, to find some way out;

but the box is shut tight.

I’m locked inside,

and in all this chaos

of everything and nothing,

I still can’t find the key.

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