“Mind the mind;” I mind mine, mining for mindful meaning…meticulously. Minuscule moments matter…yet most mistake them as minor.

Causing frantic fascination with falsified facilities; fractions of feelings, fragmented filling of fictitious fortification…following along the frequency of feathered…fear.

Call it cataclysmic charm, catastrophic catalysts, cause for alarm to harm held whole while Will wilts; a witness with this, wild want to wander in wonder…waiting, wrongly withheld…dispelled in displeasure’s purposely misleading pleasurable parameters.

 

Creating cravings for insatiable interpretation of isolated instances; ignition given to insecurities disguised as purities…unseen as a problem. “That’s insane,” pleads Insanity, instantly undistinguished; refusing to relinquish its wrecked reality.

The truth thrusts, twists, turns untangles Insanity; aware of where it’s meant to be, its sanctuary.

Sanity, savior, who savors savers; sought by ill repetition of repugnant reasoning becomes resplendent. Effortlessly effective in every aspect, surreal or abstract.

 

Yet still, it’s argued to be eschew, the logic within Sanity…lumped together with Insanity due to cantankerous calamity like a courtesy; recurring countlessly…devoted defiantly to the needless need for profane power in fear.

 

-Gustavo Lomas

 

 

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