Lost Inside Of Me
Every morning, I open my eyes, and I wonder at my surroundings.
Before any constructive thoughts, chaos comes raging as waves, crashing through my mind.
Crowds speak in unison, yet, against the grains in the sands of time.
Past memories that may be false, as they feel like they belong to someone else, and scenario’s that never will be;
confusion that paralyzes rationality and lost moments recollected out of context;
sudden realization of needed self preservation and implosive, internal destruction bursts like a supernova;
emotions on the tipping point of control, spiral into a death dive - as a predator hunt’s it’s meal, so too do they threaten to devour the entirety of my being.
Realization, that the wandering moments of yesterday, standing deep in a dense fog, are all but lost if not chased; propelling a desire of recollection.
The crowd of voices become amplified, as if to reverberate through an empty chamber.
A funny joke, a terrifying laugh from a seemingly simple weatherman, the bark of a cat and sounds of a drowning fish; an argument settled after a battle in a lost war.
Instructions whispered in urgency…I am almost there.
There are a plethora of directions, end points of accomplishment. Success at a task generates only, yet another task, complicit to procrastination in understanding the numbness.
Compelled to breathe, my own words break free of their restraints and I am convinced to search.
Awe….the blanket is red, the door is closed and the shades are open. There, a written reminder, a preset notification, so to speak…drawn by the hand of a stranger, it expels any worries that I shouldn’t be where I am.
An over-spilling riverbank of realization supersedes the chaos and I am able to sort the broken pieces.
Sometimes I can reassemble them, most times they are rebuilt by someone else, repurposed and perhaps handed down, as if generational.
Truth begins it’s treacherous journey into my heart and let’s my mind stray, as it organizes what must be done to move forward, the triggers of the moment, deciding the fate of my day.
Copyright © jamielee Darby | Year Posted 2025
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