The Problem: Grandiosity

I am the problem, 
the squirrel cage,
with no
mathematic solution.
No matter 
where I go, there I am
adding up two plus two
equals minus me.

The same me 
at the same me, 
with more wrinkles
day by day, where
my furrowed brow
deepens tyring
like hell to solve
the mathematical
problem of me.

Doing the math
I know, a thousand
days of therapy 
will not be a fix
no matter how swift 
I be, or fast the train
moves between
points Z and Q
I always show up 
where ever I have run
and equate myself to
minus one.

I am the lost one. The one 
who’s chemical make up 
will never be two plus two
equals 4.

I have days 
that last weeks
and nights that 
equal fractured 
fractal’d coastlines,
where geometry
is full of suffocations 
that bound my body 
in seaweed 
weighing me down 
so the ocean’s waves 
can repeatedly
eat me alive 
and spit me out.

I lack the proper 
equation of sweet 
serotonin & dopamine.

For me, one down day 
overwhelms a string
of twenty pearl-ish 
satin days. 

Two minus
me equals a negative
prime number on the
brink of black hole
collapsing into the 
Santa Monica Bay.

Of late this makes
me weary to say 
hello to strangers. 
A missed placed
toxic shame 
from which I
hesitate to invite
a sweet soul into 
the tormented race
where the runner 
that keeps running
turns out to be me.

Trying to catch 
my breath, I 
breathe the deep
breath of insignificance
in then out.
© SB Joy, 2023

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