I’ve written feeble crutches to support my lame thoughts,
malformed and injured, attempting to heal
But there are still some things I can’t rehabilitate
To broadly stride into the world.
They sit broken or locked away in institutions in my state of mind.
And even though they can’t quite make it out
Or they do just long enough to say hello and perish,
They are still there. They still dwell in the lingering fringe
Of my consciousness.
They say “I’m sorry.”
“I miss you.”
“I wish things had turned out differently.”
“I still care about you.”
But they can’t join the mainstream of consciousness.
They cling to the shadows.
They subsist under bridges.
They are not productive to society
and have no future
So who cares?
Why should you care?
This is precisely why I have compassion for those thoughts and still look for a solution, even when people tell me it’s a waste of time.