Inside My Mind

Outwardly I’m supposed to rage,
but inside I know my mind has aged.
And with each ticking second past,
conflicting thoughts cease to last.
Puking, running, chasing and dreaming,
joking, choking, pacing and screaming.
Events that change a persons ways
It seems I’m meant to lean that way.
Aweigh, through waves, the thought portrays
a person whom no longer thunk that way,
for days, he stays, and waits, he says,
“touche,” he ponders, a post, too late
what seems to be an olden tale,
is drowned by pints of golden ale,
time pales in comparrison to olden thoughts,
“a thought”, I thought, No. I thought it not.
It’s gone, that thought, I know, I think?
It’s no longer a thing that I believe,
yet outwardly, I’m still supposed to rage,
but inside I know my mind has aged.

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