Stream Of Consciousness Poem by CLM Littleredbird

There is an afterthought
of fragments
that stumble into the mind after every wound—
it stalls the masses and controls your head when the crowd gathers for your ultimate ending

The question of where and when fills up the well of your lips and spills out past all the whys
Our paths are unique but we all suffer the same
Human blood pulses through veins
that never quite empty, even after the slashing dagger of supreme heart break

We all wander, lost, like the scarecrow, wizard-of-oz roads, no thoughts of our own
Tell me something, is anything real?

When the bizarre explodes onto our
horizon—anything that is different
than "norm"—we scurry to shelter like
fearful creatures,
too afraid to expand past the box they
crammed our souls into as children

I grow weary of the utter mediocrity.