Hunter Whiteman - January 31, 2024
Artwork - "For Lord" by Viktor Mayhew
The Brain is such a fickle thing—
a slimy, moldy, sticky thing
a beaten, shrunken, rotten thing
a scornful, hateful, prideful king.
One day it never speaks,
the next it rambles on,
about the good
about the bad,
yet never what you wish it had.
It’s a tumor growing in your head.
It makes you want to stop and think
and so it pulls you back—
far, far back
from the moment
from the earth
back into its empty cage,
just so it can be alone.
What's the point, if not in vain?
What’s the reason for my pain?
What’s the thing that keeps me sane?
The fickle thing that is the Brain.