a word I use so often it's almost become cliche,
lost in the social jungle I fumble and tumble and turn,
faces surround me as eyes burn on every side driving me to hide,
lost inside my own mind, the hidden greatness, constant analysis and fakeness,
my mind does not make sense to me but I'm glad it's mine,
its fragmented methods prove fine, some breathless,
some overtime they chime and churn to grind so my brain can learn

Lost,
a word I'm coming so close to it may no longer own me rather me own it,
I'm lost in myself,
the beauty of being lost is what you find, my mind provides and thrives a plethora of thought,
how could I hate my mind? debate my mind?  contemplate my mind? would I lose my mind?

I once hated being lost,
now I crave it, the freedom of pointlessness,
the freedom of being you not having to search for something that doesn't exist, rather creating it