With eyes half closed
We live in death
All half-asleep
In search of rest
With abstract goals
We stumble on
Eight hours a day
Until it’s gone
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
With eyes half closed
We live in death
All half-asleep
In search of rest
With abstract goals
We stumble on
Eight hours a day
Until it’s gone
I like how this reads like something that can play on repeat in the mind of someone in a severe depression, like I am sometimes. The rhyme scheme makes it sound like thoughts mocking the thinker.
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