In the drown of turbulence
Coexisting in me,
I can frame perhaps
Three entire entities,
Speaking each from what they want,
And I drunkenly stumble,
At times, separating them,
Not knowing which movement
Fills which pigeon hole.
No amount of experience
Makes this easier.
You tell me you are you,
But for that, I am me,
And even you are a part of me
Yet saying you are different.
Be more vague
And maybe I will
Accurately dissect you from myself.
It is delicate - loosening
The unidentified tongue,
Trusting it harbors no venom.
But I wonder if I myself
Am venom, or some resemblance,
Because, without any great evil,
I am slowly poisoning
What I might have
Once called faith,
But now, for a lack
Of internal literacy,
It has lost its name,
And most value there equated.
Its depreciation is measured
In doubts and lack of common sense.
I wish I could say
You rang more clearly,
But my own bias
Has clouded more than one
Evening sky. One would think
Deception a sharper tone,
Or self a king
Unmuddled in a crowd,
But all voices seem
Equally frappéed into a mess
That spills, nearly daily,
Over my future, staining it
With a tint of helplessness.
When help comes
In punctuated spoonfuls,
Half a year outbids
All ocean beds,
And I really do wonder
At myself, and whether
I made it all up.

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