The Weight of It
Existential despair like a cliché
gnaws away at my viscera
as another being who carries my likeness
masquerades as a superior me.
The “other” seems so free,
so unaccustomed with strife
for he holds the entirety of my insight, my creativity.
Day and day passes slowly
as if continuing my anxiety until infinity.
The closed passage in my heart suddenly opens.
Other Justin is perfect, far beyond the abyss of conscious control
but perhaps he is the wrong being
to hold control over my body.
My ingenuity and creativity,
contrary to the long-held understanding driven by despair,
belong to me alone,
no matter how deep within my psyche they reside.
Other Justin’s fog persists
but I can sense a gap in its presence:
Clarity approaches.
Existential despair like a cliché
gnaws away at my viscera
as another being who carries my likeness
masquerades as a superior me.
The “other” seems so free,
so unaccustomed with strife
for he holds the entirety of my insight, my creativity.
Day and day passes slowly
as if continuing my anxiety until infinity.
The closed passage in my heart suddenly opens.
Other Justin is perfect, far beyond the abyss of conscious control
but perhaps he is the wrong being
to hold control over my body.
My ingenuity and creativity,
contrary to the long-held understanding driven by despair,
belong to me alone,
no matter how deep within my psyche they reside.
Other Justin’s fog persists
but I can sense a gap in its presence:
Clarity approaches.
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