Acquitted by my harsh judgmental mind,
on technical grounds I escape my own changes,
my legal team at odds with self,
and I facing the aftermath of each misguided affray.
Who is worse I ask, my critical mind,
or perhaps the heart that seems to know too much,
the soul in denial of thoughts corrupt,
and me in the middle of me, on the bench and making pleas.
The world will just have to stand in line,
for I have far too much to question,
before the world gets my committal papers signed,
and who will feed the cat?
Forever walking the edge of me,
so not to fall into that void, that dark question I often bleed,
caught between a rock and a hard place,
living on borrowed time and someone else’s grace.
My clarity of mind is often confusion,
and my confusion as clear as crystal glass,
for I contend with me so often,
I forget who’s in change and whose foot is in whose ass.
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