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Underground

Low...

The dusky depths

Of my melancholic mind.

Seems I always arrive here

Within passing of short time.

Why’s it feel so silky

To be shrouded in velvet darkness?

Do I dwell a little longer

Just to reap a short harvest?

Of poetry;

The linguist’s gymnastic.

Overzealous, perhaps;

Hardly something fantastic.

Simply fanatic,

Drowning in another fallacy.

Wonder if I did something worthwhile

I’d talk a little less of me?

Or these moods,

The poison of my productivity.

If I was more on top of my life

I’d seize some sort of longevity;

Instead of meddling

With the shadows that pull me underground.

Perhaps I’m sinking in my ship

Because my thoughts are getting too loud.

If only there was an off switch

That would pull me back to shore;

Maybe for a while I can walk around

Before I inevitably come back for more.

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