Run On Automatic
Mostly lots of action in my head, ideas fighting for
priority, a book to read, plans for borderline crime
or at least relatively interesting things – as empty
as a sieve today - all thoughts fall into a myriad
miniature black holes in my mind, nothing sticks
Nothing has meaning, annoying and boring, must
be the result of something I have eaten, the curry
last night, allergy rampant destroying everything
except the outline of my thoughts which run on
automatic, everything else lost, munching like
A worm, trying to minimize this effect though it
seems all attempts are worsening it, need sleep
to change personalities, escape the zombie state
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Added by Poetry Lover
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