Psychic Void

I'm between the devil and the deep sea. From the grabs of stress, I wish to be free. Flaws, like storms, uproot me from existence. Moments move like streams with no resistance. With sloth and pride, my specks of soul are foiled. I wash my linens. They seem to get soiled. I thirst for care, concern, and compassion. Why do jars of hemlock provoke passion? I cry like a child that's dropped in a pit. My life has been like garbs that are ill-knit. Alone I sail on deep seas in cracked boats. My mind, like an ant on a dried leaf, floats.