The Person I want to be
Swirling my eyes around and ‘round
Into a pile of leaves,
I see my assemblage point swirl, too.
I'm looking back at me in a tornado of thoughts
Assembling the ground around below me,
My support system slips
And my conscience falters.
It looks as if the worlds on fire
In this pile of autism Nal autumnal artistry.
The mystical mandala of my mind,
Snatches up my spirit then takes me for a ride
Into the higher levels of consciousness
And some lowers too. I’m dizzy from the delusion.
Illusions on the exclusion of always being present.
And wander aimlessly into some dreamy delirium of nothingness.
I slip into something more comfortable.
Something more manageable.
Something, more me.
Copyright © Benjamin Bartley | Year Posted 2024
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