winding in a continuous and gradually widening (or tightening) curve, either around a central point on a flat plane or about an axis so as to form a cone.
if we are not our thoughts,
then what are we?
are we our physical features and
are we just the individualised microscopic
cells, that crash together so we can function?
maybe we are not so concrete,
maybe we are more abstract.
are we the love?
are we our actions?
if we are none of this then,
do we truly exist?
if there is nothing to make us,
then how do we differentiate?
why are we not swallowed up by infinite similarity?
how do we become ourselves?
if we can't find the way to express?
maybe i am just too in my head,
my thoughts feel like scribbles
and my emotions have run dry-
words no longer escape my lips,
because i no longer have anything to say.
instead i draw spirals with words,
and live inside a continuous cycle.
Lost Within Your Thoughts
A poem I was inspired to write after reading Turtles All the Way Down By John Green.