The Core I Orbit - (a poem anthology)

The Core I Orbit

Perhaps it's the ever-changing thoughts a man cannot fathom

That concludes the finality of thoughts, emotions, and everything internal

And I'm a man of an overthinker, but an overdoer have I been seldom

So when the pulsars spin no more, the warmth of the fire turns infernal

Thus I trudge along this bubbling quicksand, awaiting vines to snare me,

Hurting my wrist as the gravity pulls me out of this mesmerizing stupor,

A damsel not so distressed after years of fickle limbs trying to subtly flee

This devilish kneading on my toes, and with its thorns my wounds I suture

Though I have a reckless habit of waking up slowly but never truly ready,

At least my equal imbalance proves to be friendlier than the past truth.

And into the dilapidated boat I aboard, sailing past the undertow so unsteady,

Stumbling upon the stygian dark of the Bermuda, the chaotic spirals that soothe.

Down under, down under, and the rock bottom became my lost Eden:

Wherein only darkness consumes, I won't ever know the same core I orbit.

There, I'm a justified ant mill unknowing where to go, a lost but proud heathen,

And only time will be my judge, whence my body dissolves for the hungry pit.