When I write that my mind is unsound
I try not to imply, there is something wrong.
It's just the worry that comes to me,
What I'll do when I no longer can be,
The support, that she needs.
A puzzle? Sure but not one to lose
As there are options that we can choose.
My mind is running away from me.
I think I need a pre frontal lobotomy.
Thoughts that are stuffed in every place,
Wedged in cracks or any empty space.
I need some time. Time to think
Or I may have to turn to drink.