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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1622297
What happens when too many things are going on in there at once.
My brain is working overtime.
Unpaid
for all its hard work.
But who asked it to
do all these things?
Is my brain not my slave
but my master?
It is ulitmately up to me
to choose my thoughts
and what I will do with them.
If I choose to battle am I not
simply going to war
with myself?
My brain is my most
powerful and dangerous tool.
In the scope of my
imagination,
lies both unparralled beauty
and regrettable tortures.
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