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?
The linguist’s gymnastic.
Hardly something fantastic.
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.