Butterflies in the night

Gears grinding ever slower
Gummed up by old oil
Smoke coming out of ears
As thought winds down. 

I’m not a good friend to myself.
Once was –
but shifting trajectories
c
onfused my mind.

 Staring at the computer again
and again.
No semblance of brainpower.
No manifest of concise thoughts.

 I’m losing myself.
That part I valued most.
Wisps lifting and flying away
Butterflies in the night.

When did poison leech
synapses, nerve conduits.
Knots grown in density.
Fog rolling in.

Sorry.
For the drugs
And illnesses born.
For the wasting away
Of what was God’s for taking.

Sorry for me being me.
For the hours upon hours spent looking,
Misunderstanding the simplest connections
Snow on the screen of my mind.

 All verbiage is going.
I am no longer the girl
Among the b
rightest in class.
Computer no longer a handy tool.

Father died from complications
Born from dementia
Is this my genetic influence?
Of which I have no control?

I beg others to
f
ind answers to my questions
Articulate answers
To s
oothe my troubled brow

For I am no friend to myself
I no longer have the questions
Or the means to connect conflicts

I stare at the computer,
Mind numbing, an enemy of myself
Lost – beating my head against walls
Alone – no longer able to  hear myself think.

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