Lucid
The marsh is thick, and my shoes are ripped.
Treading through the swamps of my mind.
Sluggishly moving onward through the quagmired
lands of this perceived world.
Constant mental struggles conflicting, go left,
or go right.
Avoidance of the insects and animals known as homosapiens.
Aiding in the difficulties of navigating quicksand type footing.
Consistent droplets falling, drowning out ones own thoughts.
Slippery, wet, humid, and dark, even in the day.
Dodging and swatting at blood sucking mosquitoes known as family.
Irritating with the saliva they spew, as they open their mouths
injecting lies.
Cold blooded reptilians guised in the art of deception of being friends.
As the lay in shallow muddy waters, awaiting opportunities to
ambush and death roll victims into submission.
Lucid dreams decoding realities chamelic disguises of cannibalism.
Loneliness and depression augmented within a room full of people.
As the walls creep closer, the chatter is muffled, as if speaking
under water.
Increase in body temperature, as beads of sweat form on the nose.
Parchedness motions the opening of the top button, while slowly
reclining to close the eyes.
As conditions stabilize, eyes reopen to the untrustworthiness.
Evading mosquitoes, while avoiding being pulled into the depths.
Copyright © Malcolm Burrell | Year Posted 2021
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