Clouded

Foggy, hazy, clouded mind, I’m yelling
I hear myself screaming, growling
at who? The nameless forces
blocking what I know
must be done. Says who?
Why must it, again?
What’s so important
about any of the trappings of time
the trivial travails of the everyday
that I turn on them, fierce and
fearful? To be feared?
The clouds part and clarity and sanity return and I know being loved is
so much sweeter than feared.
So why do I start swinging
angry and arrogant
when the foggy cloudiness of insanity descends?

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