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

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