Poetry Project 2017: Day 8

Still stuck, spinning wheels in the mud
of my soupy silly thoughts.
They call it rumination.
Or maybe just obsession.
Rejected, unloved, abandoned 
in a fictional realm.
Carry the wounds into my life
and hurt me again.
1, 2, 3
seconds tick by,
each seem to bring a new thought of you.
6, 7, 8
fractured time, focused, unfocused.
I'm slipping and sliding between realms.
Where am I?
What plane of existence is this?
It can't be real.
No,
that can't be real.
What is real?
My obsession with you.
I'm sorry to hurt you,
if you ever find out.
Painful person spreading pain,
awkwardly,
to an undeserving target.
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