S.S. Warrior Poet

Tormented by a past I can’t erase,
Though I have,
I am sounding the alarm of my own demise,
For though I was born to love,
Its absence is killing me,
Not softly,
Rather intensely,
As my lucid insanity ravages within,
As in this tea pot,
I am stewing, steeping and reaping,
Not which I have sown,
But instead,
The opposite,
Daily battles waged,
In a continuous war,
Wherein this fog,
I am prisoner,
To forces you don’t see,
Cannot conceive of,
Or even understand,
Only I can know,
Resistance, it’s true,
Is futile,

crashing waves of Serotonin, Melatonin and Dopamine, RUSH;
As I have self medicated,
I have wagered on scientific intervention,
Only to discover,
That I and I alone,
Can right this ship,
S.S. Warrior Poet,
In uncharted waters,
With clouds, heavy,
On the horizon,
But for me,
There is, can be, no safe harbour.
Save love,
Love save me,
Low that voyage is more S.S. Minnow than I care to admit,
Deserted island,
Of I and I and I,
Surfing endless waves of discontent,
Battling with a rudderless ship,
Logic and reason,
In literal moments,
Of figurative understanding,
Out of control,
Yet the Ether condemns me,
To these words,
And my chemistry to this plight,
Despite all challenges,
I continue,
Must continue,
Will continue to fight,


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