My mind contains some oddities of nature
Unable to picture, to imagine and then see
My mind is barren of images
Concepts float freely unmoored from the constraints of light
Devoid of dreams and insensitive to pain
Alexithymic, unaware of it's own emotions
It knows not its own frame of reference
Rather I float through life gently and senselessly
My own reality is the nature of my question
And I have not yet found an answer
YOU ARE READING
poetic mistakes
Puisijust my musings Feel free to leave comments or whatever but don't expect me to do anything about it. This is just a place I put what I write
