What’s wrong, it’s all a game
Play, don’t complain
How can I, I’m troubled, sick and tired
My thinking is all mired
How do I trust you, oh wise man
You seem wiser for my worldly ways
How can I deny that which transmutes
Me in myriad ways
Still, what you say appears okay
If only for sometime
Yet I get lost, my mind goes astray
The pain, once again, holds me for prey
It sees everything, doesn’t complain
Memories, feelings, actions, permutations
“Self" is but a mute spectator
Of endless cycles of needless frustrations
Between Me and I
Who is I, I wonder
The Me that’s Me
Or the I, the Me can’t see
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