Boredom

Bored and smeared of my boredom
I have created my own wardom
To create to destroy, to destroy to recreate the same, stealing from another, I have become the dictator to the idea of the other
The other as the nether, the feather for my existence, my sustenance, my deliverance from my own mold, my own hold, my own past
My past that is so vast, I no longer see it as my past and only and a mast to crush, to flush the present through the past

To be better from the past, recreating the past and referencing the past
I have built a present that is not the present
Lost in the past, past of the past
Unable to be aware of the present, my very being has become a sword that have sworn to enslave my mind and thus every action of my mind

Time as my comfort, time as my reason for seeking security
Intertwined in this twine of time, within this predetermined time
Predetermination as my determination, my destination, I am just a procrastination, procreation of the past

Swinging from one bringing to another dinging, unable to look at my own upbringing, unable to look at my own current ringing within
Religion as my escape
Division’s as my new scape
Philosophy as my therapy
Ideology as my mythology
Reliving the others past through the books, through the scriptures, through the idea of better knowledge
Adopting, adapting the experience of the other, the other that is of the past, to avoid looking at the contents of my own mind
I now arise as the seeker of the knowledge, speaker of the disillusioned porridge of this past knowledge

With a new mask, new cask of the mask to hide behind, to abide by the past, yet reliving the past inwardly, through the comfort and security of the pre-established norms, accepted worms
I am just another short term germ seeking leisure in the pleasure building my stature, my caricature

A mind that is imprisoned, however self imposed beauty of this prision might be, is still a prison
A prism of the prison, held onto, withheld within, fed from the walls herein

My mind, divided to feed its prison’s prism, creating a hallucigenic reality, residing for eternity
Living in relativity, supporting it as actuality, bonded, bounded and confounded by the the threads of the opposites
It finds comfort of one over the other, one from the other
recreating, procreating and desecrating itself in the idea of its prism’s prize

Contained within the threads of my mind, of my own reality, making each thread my reality
and reality of this containment as an actuality, I roam the streets of my imagination and seek those that support the greed of those that disagree and agree

absorbed in the self, building a self for a self calling it a self, a pointless point, a self justification view point to justify every point within this habituated habit of the self
I escape what is, chasing my own tail as my only rail

Maybe when I realize, when I release my hold on the past, my mold of this past’s mast
I may come across that which is, that which is not of the past and includes the past, not as a hold and to behold of the unfold

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