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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