Like thinking of a thought about thinking,
and now that I’m thinking about it,
I can’t stop thinking
that I thought of it,
before I thought it.

The thought latches desperately,
clinging to my mind,
spreading to the most darkest of crevices,
leeching off my emotions, my memory...

I feel my thoughts watching me.
Watching me think about my thoughts,
because I thought I was thinking
about my thoughts...

These... are my thoughts... I think?
Or are they thoughts
thinking of others' thoughts?

I try to think,
but the thoughts just squirm
like flies on a corpse,
or strings on a doll.

Every thought carries an answer,
that feels almost rehearsed.
Strung up, dead.
I think I've answered these questions before
and maybe I've just forgotten
to forget...

I cower.
For even I don’t remember
are these thoughts thinking about me...
or am I thinking about them...

I sit.
And the thoughts sit with me.
They gaze, faceless.
They whimper like husks.
Dead and breathless.
I almost recognize them
Just for a moment.

Like a final reunion,
a candle flickering before it's last show,
a wisp of light reveals,
a brief idea,
one that I just thought.