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  • kwabenagyane

A Wandering Thought

I find the thought swimming back ever so often

Its tail doing little work as if it wandered back into my mind by accident

To think I had envisioned a cerebral ocean residing above

Only to be apprised of boxed waters, large no doubt, but small enough to welcome ancient residents

I find the thought swimming back with more meat on its back

Its maw forever gaping, in search of fresh thoughts; shapes that have not yet emerged from their wet shells

All to be devoured by their cannibalistic cognate

I suppose one ought to expect nothing less from a fry

That was fed aplenty before it went further down

I find the thought swimming back with a genial shoal

Its eyes now white and scarred, wearing the face of a corsair

Those it cannot kill, it calls to flout

Pray tell what could have created such a callous creature?

Off it goes once more, leading a morose school before an answer arrives

I find the thought swimming back was all part of an elaborate plan

So olid, I'm appalled I failed to catch its scent

How does one miss a tide during tranquil times?

Upon its next visit, my hands will have memorised the shapes of various death tools:

A harpoon, a knife, a club, a spike, a machete, an axe, a hammer and a pike

All trained to perform their task with swift efficiency

All rendered useless when the target eludes each strike!

I seek not only its demise, I pray for its torment, a thousand lashes or a thousand cuts, I care not

As long as it compensates for my purgatory

Each scale pulled from its foul form, I want it acquainted with agony

Each muscle welcoming atrophy like a lost kin

Each rod and each cone meeting fire, I want it burning blind!

I want its jaws locked and the key thrown into a borehole, my young thoughts must leave infancy whole and intact

The survivors, with their frantic dispositions, have already made plans to bolt the doors and leave me without Sleep's visits

My only hope is to slaughter them all before they decide to join that cacodemon

This unholy fiend has pushed me unto Lunacy's lap

Its mere presence poisons my sanity, its whispers I fear open the doorways to delirium

I want it lacerated! I want it bled out! I want it dead!

I find the thought swimming back every day

Am I meant to forever be chained to its pernicious game?

Must I be made a prisoner, until freedom grows tired of evading me?

All I can do is watch

All I can do is wish.

All I can do is want.

For the time will come, that I know, the thought will remove its wary skin; finally abstracted

And I will retrieve the necessary tools, with no interest to make it slow or fast,

Just the need to make it happen.

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