I Am?

Never ending inward wondering.
In the mind.
I wish to find.
Me?
Could it possibly be?
Art, writing, music, Natures welcoming arms.
I run from the confines of time and its unnecessary alarms.
Panic, depression, caving into a different sort of temptation.
Can you offer me an explanation?
What if I said please and thank you?
Would that really make a difference?
Can't help the silent screams that ring
Ignore it and sing?
Too much hyperventilation
I wouldn't exactly call it sensation.
I could
Blame the winter
Blame the artistic sinner
Blame society
Blame conformity
Blame the meds
Blame the two single separate beds
I could, but the truth is
I don't know why I am the way I am.





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