Filter

My mind is under audit,
several thousand times a day.
Well, not that I record it,
but it feels like it’s that way.

The rug gets pulled from under,
inner-certainty and calm,
when thoughts work up a hunger,
for the things that cause me harm.

I have to run for cover,
and replay the moment through,
to quarantine and smother,
all the demons that accrue.

It doesn’t even matter,
that I know it’s all untrue.
Such allies tend to scatter,
when the enemy breaks through.

So tired of being the filter,
for the thoughts that were not mine,
but till I’ve died or built a
wall, I’ll try and hold the line.

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