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The vulnerable time between boredom and sleep
Is where I would hear the noise of the wrong-thoughts,
Systematically muted throughout the day.
The concept of another life, another path and goal
Crept and pried its way inside of me,
Into the tiniest crevices of my inner workings.
It consumed me and divided me
It pitted me against myself,
Our own worst enemies.
Here is the turning point and here it will remain
Until the end of my personal time,
This seventeen year old would not remain unchanged.
Rejecting my former self entirely
I pushed away my desires of every shape and sort,
And accepted everything for what it was,
And also for what it was not.
With a new understanding of compassion
And a renewed sense of humanly brotherhood,
I understood what I had been lacking.
Sleep came slow that night
And I got a rare glimpse into the many stages of half-sleep,
So intricate, slow, and smooth.