Dissection

He contemplates his reflection in an ascending metallic box,

in his overcast, oversaturated head, nothing registers.

His edges frayed, limp, dragging on his sides, barely holding on to his spine,

he wonders, juxtapositioning on an overflowing pile of thoughts,

another, of science, physics, and mathematics.

Siblings, distant cousins, or the different guises of the same man.

Humans have an affinity for over-complicating appellations.

Could it be that this is just another faulty classification,

to be debunked, rectified, or tossed aside,

after lengthy contestations, some leading to knuckle dislocations?

The fading of the meditation, of a similar nature to its appearance,

both putting at peril the accuracy of my denomination,

are characteristic of his current state.

"Current" also being a questionable choice of words,

does "current" extend for months, years,

or at one point does it switch to become something else,

maybe a trait one must tweak or accentuate?

He sometimes attempts to trace back and clock the onset,

was it his crisis of faith?

Then he starts to dissect the word "faith," trying to make sense of it.

It’s tiresome, asking questions, reaching for answers.

What seems simple and benign extends to fearsome,

-and according to some records-

revelations that might push us to our decline.

Get in touch