Waiting On Spring (a dichotomy of lunacy)

I don't even know what to think anymore
do I even exist or just taking up space
in an ever polluted paradigm?

the ying is pulling at my yang
and the simple has mentally abstained

I'm a stain on the ceiling
lying parallel to those sparking white walls
up has turned me down
and I've become dizzy or so it seems

life has a way of beating you
and I've been hit more than once
but I can take a punch
and I can reading that writing
(the holographic beast
sticking out her tongue)

I'm not afraid
and I'll never be outdone
by me or myself

I ramble on, one breath at a time
waiting on spring, my hope, and my sun