The Complexity of It all

The body is not right with the mind and the siren’s vexing song captures me and I test how far out I can drift before I am sent under, drowning; I am not here nor do I feel good.
I cannot feel good under the pressures I make, the tremors are, now, just beginning to act up.
How can I stay a-float when my soul weighs heavily on my conscience?
My mind is dense, not hollow like most others, I conjecture this–I cannot perform like everyone else.
I feel like I failed because I no longer am able to do what I volunteered to do.
My mind started bright, a nova for the new semester and now the light is fleeting and greeting the shadows of the forever distant dark.
I feel my own saber wrenching and lacerating the depths of my heart.
I am an American and I can see the western institution poisoning me unto lethal decay.
Every step I take brings me closer to the brink of imperative exhaustion–I feel a witch’s hex cast me to march feebly until I collapse;
The body is not right with the mind.

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