A Flight Without A Pilot

Am I the wind that stirs the turbulence within my airplane?

Can I reach my potential, 

Or am I destined to be a victim of its remains?

I stand at a distance from myself, completely detached

Like a book on a shelf, its pages barely intact 

Amidst the turbulence, anxiety takes flight,

I’m lost in the clouds, 

while others embrace the calm of the night

The pilot’s asleep, and I beg for him to wake,

But I’m left to navigate through currents of teasing winds and shortening days

The gravity of my emotions pulls at my core,

As the horizon spins out of my reach

I’m a few strands of hair away from the shore 

Of my drowned tears that salted the sea 

There isnt much that I ask for

Except for my freedom, I plead 

I am nothing but a passenger in my subconscious mind 

Trying to understand my brain’s own language of mimes 

The labyrinth of my thoughts is an enemy’s territory 

As if my struggle is a comedic allegory

I don’t understand why my brain is addicted

to procrastination like it is its own neurotic drug

When I propose the question,

my brain answers with a Gallic shrug