I can't control the madness
of my mind.
It darts and fly's ten thousand
places at once.
There's no internal resting place.
Some days I want to kill
my mind and
all the questions;
other days I want to
dwell in them,
I want to feel them and the
uncertainty, as if it brings me
some form of cruel comfort.
Tell me, God, where are you
present in these days?
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