Insane

To have found out things you did not want to know.
Using means that should not have been used.
Now having gained this ill gotten knowledge is driving me insane.
Why did I do this to myself?
Why would I let my curiosity overcome me?
With this what do I do?
I want to spill it.
But rash I would be.
To sit and stew is torture.
My punishment perhaps?
I am deeply saddened.
Suspect though I was.
To write it down I hoped would help.
But alone I still sit.

 



This entry was posted on Monday, August 11th, 2008 at 11:02 pm and is filed under Poems, Writings and Musings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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