weeping cuts in the nascent dreamer

my mind is a scapel
in the untrained hands
of an amatuer neurosurgeon
it cuts sharply
to the truth of matters
exposing the things
i am not quite
prepared enough
mentally to handle

the reality
is plainly laid out
in front of me
clear as day
so i see the entirety
of the big picture
and i see that i am
an ant standing next
to a skyscraper
in the grand scheme
of pseudo existence

no matter how loudly
i clamor for attention
there will always be
a thousand things
taking precedent
and by nature i just
shrink myself out
of everyone’s view
until i am a footnote
in the book of life

my mind is a butterknife
in the manic grip
of a bipolar gorilla
slamming itself
gleefully into roundabout
pile ups and dead end
circular thoughts
trying not get into
reality’s fickle way

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