scruta

My heart, my soul, my subconscious – they are all the same.

They are no longer of interest to me.

Is it because I have come to terms with them? Or rather, come to terms with constantly coming to terms with them?

Or is there some part of it that I have shut out? Neglected? Something left to be awakened? Something I see in others that I – in all of its delight, all of its horror – see in myself?

For anyone who considers themselves the slightest bit a poet, these are the questions that haunt you.