Smoke of The Mind

I feel as though, a lot of the time my mind is clouded by a thick veil of smoke. As if, at any given moment the thoughts I have may not necessarily be in their purest form, in the truest way in which they should be felt.

Maybe it is nothing… maybe I am creating a presence in a wild need to ascribe a word to whatever it might be, an explanation to these mysterious feelings that often spend time troubling me.

There are times when I cannot think clearly. Times when my judgement and views towards things seem skewed in one way or the other. Times when the world itself seems to take on different shapes, egregious ones for the most part. Times when physically, my vision is blurred, when there is a dissonance between myself and the objects or people I am seeing. And scarily, times when the world/reality appears anything but real through my eyes and the workings that interpret them.

It is in and amongst this smoke where I reside, where I live my life to the best of my ability. And when it does clear, I am left wondering at what point in the future it might once again show its face. Left knowing that it is a certainty.

Yet, despite this, the smoke is my friend. On occasion, I get the sense it is obscuring my vision of certain things, purposefully locking away parts of myself it knows would be dangerous to lay eyes upon. So, maybe this is true, and maybe it isn’t. Maybe I am rationalising an otherwise completely irrational being.

I do not know.

Do I want to know?

Smoke

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