Iím thoroughly convinced now
that my warm fuzzies donít work for me.
Rather, at best theyíre just contrarians,
but Iím beginning to believe thereís something more nefarious.
Perhaps theyíre part of the grand scheme,
another cog in my self-destruct machine,
making the button so much easier to press. Yes, I see them now, Knives disguised in butterflies clothing.
Dressed for my undoing.
Tearing me up on the inside, and screwing
with my wiring.
All the while I continue with my admiring and plummeting into miry depths that would leave me bereft of breath, yet they commense, with firing
false signals to my system,
and blocking the neuro-receptors
that connect to wisdom.
The alert has reached critical, close to the point of meltdown,
and I can feel myself melt now.