mind

My mind is the beast, which i need to control. It throws tempers of random thoughts, vivid pictures of loathsome scenes, that seeks to ravage. It moves on its own accord, unrestrained and wild. Devouring by the same fearsome notions it feeds on, this incest of the intellect sickens it. On better days it conjures up images of hellfire's eternity, the itch of the burnt rotting worm dug flesh, trapped in a body that cannot, not a finger or a muscle or a vessel, move forever. For a second it fascinates the mind, like a fly drawn to shit. Thereafter the same thought overwhelms and paralyze it. What good is the intellect, is the conscious if we cannot controll it? An unrestrained mind, is an insane one.