fight it; take the pain, ignite it.

"Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compost, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation."

- Graham Greene, Ways of Escape

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The swift movement of the arm left a stain on the way.
It wasn't a stain. It was colour.
It wasn't colour. It was a mark.
It wasn't a mark. It was art.
It wasn't art. It was vandalism.
It wasn't vandalism. It was a form of expression.
It wasn't a form of expression. It was anger.
It wasn't anger. It was beautiful.
It wasn't beautiful. It was irreversible.
It wasn't irreversible. It was decorative.
It wasn't decorative. It was a disaster.
It wasn't a disaster. It was pleasing to the eyes.
It wasn't pleasing to the eyes. It was causing a headache.
It wasn't causing a headache. It was leaving a nice memory.
It wasn't leaving a nice memory. It was taking up unnecessary space.
It wasn't taking up unnecessary space. It was making a place alive again.
It wasn't making the place alive again. It was killing the mind.

Because just one swift movement of the arm.
What was left behind became something so difficult to ponder over.
That it went in circles, back and forth, downward a never ending spiral.
All because of one swift movement of the arm.

--------

What I perceive to be beautiful,
some might not appreciate.
What I perceive to be painful,
some might better tolerate.

At the end of the day,
what am I fighting about;
When my mind is the one
going on a roundabout.

The mind is complex,
for a stain to me might not be a stain to you.
The mind is beyond complicated,
for a stain to you might not be a stain to me.

And I question myself again,
what are I doing all these for again;
Trying so hard to understand the mind,
trying to read deep into my own mind.

When the mind might not even exist,
for it is a myth to me -
How it exists inside the brain
when the mind itself isn't physical.

I might be able to see my brain.
But I can't see my mind.
I can find my brain.
But I can't find my mind.

When one is drowning in thoughts,
the thoughts can't be found in the brain.
So where are my thoughts,
and what exactly am I drowning in?


The brain exists,
so where is my mind?
It seems like a whirlpool of thoughts.
I'm drowning in my own mind.

----------------

M.

tie a noose around your mind,

loose enough to breathe fine.