My head

My head is a library
With wise books on countless shelves
concerning the self-improvement of selves

My head is a diary
With plans to be discarded
about that way forward that I started

My head is a symphony
With lovely tunes of existential dread
tapered by sporadic intermezzo’s of regret

My head is a swingletree
Which guides my body aimlessly
across fields of endless inadequacy

My head is a raspberry
Which is most definitely rotten
the youthful flavour ready to be forgotten

My head is imagery
full of metaphors to disguise
an uneven canvas of truths and lies

If this head is all I’ll ever be
A mosaic of uncertainty

I’ll embrace this madness merrily
‘till this head is reduced to memory

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