The Purge

I think this must be it. ‘This’ the slow, the gradual, and the progressive death to a train of thought that has plagued my mind since…

Since it all fell apart.

Relentless and unceasing, each and every day it comes for me: hiding behind my active thoughts, surfacing from and menacing the times when my brain is idle.

But with each passing day, and with each passing dream, it grows ever weaker, as the threads of relevance slowly unbind and untangle themselves from the nasty convoluted mess that has been the giant thrombus in my head.

The lines between right and wrong converge and intersect, winding in and blurring out into a million eddies of contradictions. The more I see, the more I think, the less I know, and the less things seem to make sense.

You then start to think about how people do it, and why.

And then you start to wonder: were you ever meant for such a thing?