I just cant think like I used to, can not feel like I used to.
The water gates have opened and are flooded with a bright liquid,
encompassing my creativity.
I have so much to be proud of and yet my shame is at an all time high.
This contentedness is too much to embrace.

My body and mind have the same argument daily,
fighting over what to miss.
Whether it be suffering or bliss, I can not decide.
I am no martyr, just a confused man stuck between reality and this strange commonality.

Perhaps it is the stale wallpaper I brought with me to my new life,
or a defective mind.
Either way, it would appear that if my heart is not broken, my mind is.