Jul 16

Come Undone

Tightly wound,
Clutching morals in desperate hands,
Always hungry for more.
More truths,
Wrapped within lies,
And lies,
Hidden like a seed in truths.

Standing rigid,
A statue,
The perfect exemplar of trust.
The only thing marring the perfectness of the statue,
Is the worry lines,
From years upon years,
Of nothing but being 'perfect'.

Wandering blind,
In the dark, twisted ways of the world.
The only hand to hold on to,
Is the one they are never sure they can trust.

But still,
They do,
Too bound by the standards,
Preset for them,
No way to disable them.

The human mind is no phone,
It isn't a one of the simple games of a child.
The mind of a human being is complex,
Going forwards, backwards, sideways, up, and down,
All at once.

The mind is wound up,
Always working,
Past capacity,
Over the speed limit,
Faster than blinking.

The mind can be tiring,
And it can get tired.
It comes undone.