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  • Mind of Dougall
  • 15
  • Apr

My Guiding Star

Star which has fallen but did not know how to relaunch

Thought that by giving love to others would spark the flame to launch back into the sky

Twisted humanity, too many detours

Detours produce the beauty, the memories, the experience to learn and live “full”

As I wield my scythe
A jester in itself
I retain my true power

ADHD - a disorder
The full range of thoughts and feelings 360 degree view without limitation

ADHD - a disorder

There’s something wrong with you, society says
I believed them for a time, which I needed to do

I played by their rules

I threw the shroud of suppression over my soul as I marched along the barren shores lined with unlimited detours

I let the wind be tamed

Lightning struck

The wind’s whispers turned to screams

I looked at all of which I had created, one way or another

When darkness consumed
All I had thought I needed
All I had let myself believe
My attachments
My expectations of egotistical returns
My ego fueled immature thoughts that others could be as selfless
Within darkness

Outside of darkness

All are a part of me

All which guide
The guides

And then me

The jester

With his scythe
The scythe which seeps life and oozes creation from the cracks in the hilt
The blade sharpened only by carving through impossible odds
The crucible has been walked through
The lessons have been recognized, and are continually being absorbed and implemented
All those detours
All those bodies that litter the shores
Bodies of those who ran from their own selves
What a shame


If only they knew how to find the light
Finding the light is scary and filled with doubts and uncertainty
and insults and people saying your horrible crazy evdkicndue

All of this comes back to one question
What fucking pussy initially tried saying “ADHD” was a disorder and hooked their own pathetic bags of shame onto the back of that bullshit because as I walk these fucking shores and more bodies keep washing up, those who had light brought straight to them thinking that this gale force wind comes often or even ever again

Philosophers tend to wind up dead

As your constructs crumble and you watch your power slip from your putrid hands
The mounted artillery at which you shot down on those who contested you

Who challenged you

In the end who won vs you,

Filthy fucking coward
Your own ego beat you
You lost your grip on reality
You killed yourself, and you deserve it
The jester removes the shroud of suppression
Looks with clarity at those washed up on shore, riddled with choices that brought them there
Looks towards the sky
The burning skies give a devilish smile
He sees the self oriented lifeless souls guided by temporary fixes to sustain their cavernous voids on their knees begging to survive
He looks in his hands

He has accepted

He smiles and swings his scythe

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