The Dying of My Brain

It’s the thought that counts

Perhaps I don’t think enough

Of others

Strenuous good will

Not enough

The lithium leached

Into my brain

And drained

Me of who I am

And molten cells

Scuttle together to find boxes

Of time and space

Solace

Sheltering, building

Sensible sense

Whilst freedom grows out

Dark maturity takes root

I try to think

But it’s the thoughts that count

Not the thinking

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