Figure of Eight
Awake to a world without
taste
Where sickness pulls down
in haste
Somewhere between dull
ache and nauseate
Dusty smell and reality is
that figure of eight
Rollercoaster of eternity in
finite time
Mind cannot see beyond
this fog, enemy of the sublime
Exist in the day wishing
to sleep away
Thoughts of being accursed
is in the fray
Lights are dull intrusions
that grind around eyes
Sounds reverberate until
they shatter the mind
Routine beckons after the
alarm has wakened
Afflictions have no sympathy
as they attack and weaken
Movement in the surreal
defies reality’s zeal
Wishing for that constant
flow is caffeine’s appeal
Numb to thoughts that the
world can end
Confused circles with that twist, figure of
eight bends
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