Confict

My sanity is at the tip of my tongue if I could only remember how it went I search my files and catalogs but it's wasted energy spent No useless knowledge of any sort or witty comment made no brilliant remark or clever retort no sarcastic words to trade No puns, no jokes or riddles no intellectual interaction Nothing in the entire world will give me satisfaction My mind divides now as it were my new identities born one who is too scared to share the other one filled with scorn And one pathetic whimperer feeling sorry for herself is crushed under the demoness who says ther's nothing else Too much conflict of myself I can't sort it out All these voices loudly screeching In essence, I am doubt