Thinking and Overthinking

I am almost always thinking,

and then overthinking what I have thought

That’s what I do all the time,

thinking about what thinking has brought


I was thinking before you came

What will become of me?

Will I know what I am looking for?

Will I find what I am looking for?


I keep on thinking while you are here

What will become of me?

Do I know what I am looking for?

Have I found what I was looking for?


I will be thinking when you are gone

What have I become?

Did I know what I was looking for?

Did I find what I was looking for?


And then I think of other things;

mostly cruel things and not the kind ones

The kind ones I reserve for others;

rest are directed at myself, the cruel ones


What is the exact distance,

between the bullet and the brain?

Is it exactly one impulsive decision long;

or do the decisions form a long chain?


How much blood is sprayed around

when a human body thrashes around?

Is it just enough to write a final message;

or is it by buckets, seeping in the ground?


How does the brain perceive the bullet?

Does it get frightened by the violent invasion;

or does it welcome the small projectile,

a possibility of completing the equation?


And how much time the memories consume

to fade away and to get all extinguished?

Are they switched off suddenly and abruptly;

or are they slowly and gradually relinquished?


I think and I ask myself questions

When answered, the answers frighten me

But sometimes they remain questions,

stalactites piercing my heart with glee

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