Autonomy Aches

Autonomy aches,
too many years for
my head to hold.

Expectations are
self inflicted
false advertisements.

Not getting
my investment back
anytime soon.

Pluck the taut string
of sanity–
doesn’t make a sound.

Tired of hearing,
“Is your self at home?”
No, it never is.

Yet you yammer on
as if you received
an affirmative reply.

Collection of cells
molested by inquiries
of rapport on the daily.

I want to play comatose,
hide and seek
with my soul.

Daily poetry postings for your perusal. Scraps of intelligible thought Frankenstein stitched into a fabulous existential quilt. Feel free to talk poetry or philosophy with me--always interested in conversation and creation. >

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Posted in Poesy

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