Maddening

it begins with the red card 
found in the hands of that same being
staring back from the mirrored image &
there lies the rub,
for to look right or left,
to leave the room,
to try & sleep forever,
brings no peace---
the maddening of the mind has already been set forth in
motion---
as questions upon questions
pile up like the foulest garbage in a landfill,
what becomes of the thinker is a mass of
unrest---
stirrings outdo themselves when
the maddening increases &
sooner than later it becomes harder to distract oneself from
more impending inquiries,
from further investigations promulgated by
multiplying selves 
who are all up to no good---
on the outside
the attempt to keep it all in check 
begins to dwindle as well &
even something so simple as eating a muffin at the
café
becomes something of the greatest struggle,
because the self will not allow its own
inquisition
to
cease &
nothing but destruction lies ahead.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

Poem

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