This poem is about how the Self overshadows the Being, as I get entangled in my own patterns. How pain, rage, damaged brain & veins create the image of the haunted phase, while the Being is simply present in its pure essence behind these patterns, created by the Self.
Crazy lines I’m scripting through the multiple black spots in my damaged brain
It’s not in vain when I say my phase is the one controlling my haunted scene
It’s like the red tint is tainted when it flows out from the inside of my stressed out veins
The way my top frame is screaming out in top form the rising rage
I go crazy when my brain blows out in pieces to ride the insanely strong waves
My mind is sometimes constrained in square shapes, I’m not able to losen my grip
Sharp thorns I’m shedding by burning the outer surface of my thick skin
Deep dents I’m hammering out of the deformed shape of my swirling face
It’s my Being standing out peacefully behind the ashes of my burning Self
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