Pensive

Conscious soup, distracting doubts

What should be focused in, without

Fantastic musings, taking root

Inside my mind - a bastard shoot

I take no pleasure, feel no pain

Receptors, softened in my brain

If signal'd scarce, a guilty lapse

The stuff of excess thought, perhaps

But time and time, this proves to be

a time-bomb, like my sanity

Impending trouble, shrinking from

the fear of what it may become

For now, it simmers. Daring eyes;

I'm watching, breathless: I despise

myself for wishing. Yes, it's sweet.

Forbidden fruit , thy will defeat.

It's taste, if offered by your hand,

my body, I would cease command

of silently. But not too long.

Though light and cold, my mind is strong.

So strange, I to myself return

And from the chill, I grow, I learn

The pleasure of lucidity.

I smile, alone; my thoughts, and me.