Poetry

Thought Criminal

by

Dominae Cole

The fog lifts only to
reveal more fog.
So this is clarity?
I`m tired of racking
my brain over thoughts
that were never mine.
That’s someone else`s
thing…trip…karma…
I`ll trade all my dogma
for a warm beverage on
a cold day.
There`s only real comfort
in knowing that you
don`t know.
My mind spins and my
eyes beg of me
to shut them.
I can`t for fear of missing
the BIG PICTURE.
I`m lost, but I don`t
want to be found.
Being found is like dying,
what`s the point?