I have too much going on in my brain.
It all bubbles up, leaving no room for pain.
Now all I have to do is wait;
Wait for all of it to drain.
Wait for it to dry up.
Wait for all it to just go away.
Now;
There is no more,
Of the limbic part of the brain.
Nothing else.
Nothing else but empty pain.
Pain without reason or way.
Pain without the next day.
YOU ARE READING
Occupational Hazard
Poésiejust a bunch of poems and other random shit that I wrote. If you have a problem with what I write, and you feel it is worth my time. Please politely bring it to my attention and we can talk about it over some virtual tea and biscuits. *Warning** So...
