The Question of Id

Whether I have been misled or am I mad, I do not know.

In the circa 1924, the pride took a hit
In sun hour finding a tandem to idle id, I took bullets to talk cowering

Whatever the gasps meant, the mind has become an agenda to crows
The cradle is a thief to justify its ends

Though I have meant mad when the reality pushed too far
I have become a dense militia
The question remains whether I have bent the universe
To my own reality, the world has conjugated a punctuation

In surfing tides, the waters are matted together; in disbelief I come to acknowledge –
No one shouts out too loud the nemesis until bled


© Prateek joshi and WordPress, 2018
Image © Pieces of a Broken Me by Diego Garcia

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s