Dear B,

I don’t know who’s tiring who

Is it me or is it

The one that’s getting me through

Today and every day.

The one that makes me think

and the one that leads the way

in the road to madness

and occasional sanity

from a whole lot of ambiguousness

to perfect clarity.

The one that’s telling me

What to do, constantly,

And what to say,

Continuously and every day.

The one that defines me,

my humanity?

Is it my feared oppressor?

Is it my salvation, my liberator?

Either way,

I’m burnt, sleepless and tired.

And the answer is required

To my first inquiry,

Is it me or is it my brain?

To think infinitely,

Of everything and anything,

Is that what I’ll forever do?

Because I only think, I don’t do.

Of that I’m tired, aren’t you

dear brain?

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