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
Copyright © Pamela Taylor | Year Posted 2006
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