At times my mind becomes a cranial soup,
A colourless slop of muddled ideas,
Far from palatable,
And even further from the acumen I strive for,
An anarchic hodge-podge,
I’ve lost my centre,
I’m disoriented,
I’m perplexed,
Grossed out by the muck my brain offers up,
I hear it sloshing about between my ears,
When confusion takes over,
I try to separate fiction from logic,
Taking sips begrudgingly,
Hoping to digest an ounce of sense,
But the odds are undeniably stacked.
