some worlds are just insane

in an un-invented corner of your mind,

lies the center of your being.

it is not a happy place.

for here lie your gods,

buried but not dead,

still holding the strings of your fate;

weaving uncensored rules of censorship

telling you all that you hold holy,

but it is not a sacred place.

here born are the mad mutterings,

that underly your logic,

the illusions of being valid,

but it is not an accurate place.

it is here that sits the jury,

deciding the verdict of your becoming;

for you may desire to be,

but it is not a charitable place.

here spawned are the reasons you try so hard,

and yet find that nothing has come out of it.

you may have gotten but not what you want,

but it is not a not a blind a place.

starts here the idea that that there is a ‘you’,

that faulty burden you wish wasn’t yours,

still substantial as identities might make you feel,

it is not, a very substantiated a place

it is here your insistence to not have died at all,

has created the illusions of your continuity.

and your histories have already dug in their roots,

and rendered it not so fertile a place.

coalesced here are all the times you were hurt,

and unknowingly copied its ways.

it is safe to learn the ways of the pain,

but it is not a very kind a place.

live you will, through the twistings of it,

live will your friends through its claim on your ways;

and once it is all done, it is here that you crumble,

succumbing to not having seen this place.