The trenches of the graph
Ugh, how they’re the most consuming of all
When the conscience slips down to the worst part of the mind
And wanders the trenches looking for triggers
Triggers for self sabotage and fits of anger
How consuming are the low points of life.
The awareness of its fleeting state does nothing
Nor does the best of conditioning we’ve given the mind
Nor the many alternatives for distraction
Appeal to the conscience lingering at the vulnerable edge
Which only wants to consume.
Why are the lowest points of life defining
Why the fits of frustration the worst baits
Why’s the conscience powerless against vulnerability
Why the mind consistently resorts to its dark place?
No, not the most pursued passion works here
Not even the most loving friend
When the conscience plunges into those leaf covered trenches
Not any tangible alternative compensates;
Your own mind consumes and consumes you for days.
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