Concrete and Bedsheets

I'd like to take my rebellion elsewhere
But it's forcing me to accept its presence
And my nonchalance had nothing better to do
Than accompany me today.

So I bring them along
In tandem and flanking my mind
Combating to win my decision
And alleviate me of my own doubtful precision.

And since I'm the person
Who likes to overdo things
Overcaffeinate
Overwork
Overthink
…I'm over it.
And my hands are convinced
Simply sure
That they can outrun my fluid thoughts
And it's torture to watch them
Race to the finish line.

Finish. Finish at the halfway point.
And tell me how you feel.
When you think you're done.

Who cares what need means?
You're pushing me back there.
When I don't want to go there.
And asking for resistance there

Is a futile effort of epic proportions.

I know because I see it
Written all over the walls
And walls are only meant for containment
And containment produces insanity
And if insanity is repeating the same action
And expecting a different result
I'd love to gauge my own
Since my life is on a loop
And it's skipping tracks as we speak.

We're cast in concrete like phone poles
And in bedsheets like butterflies
And we're hiding from the world like it had always done us wrong
And what’s wrong is our malcontent
Our Overs
Overanalyzing. Overhauling. Overdone.
And this periodic dissonance
Has me smiling ear to ear
That simultaneous eruption of tones
Conventionally described as in a state of unrest
And needing completion
Speaks to the nature of me now
And I'd rather embrace its incongruity
Than pretend to love perfection.