Something is shaving away at the brain,
Killing neurotransmitters, causing pain,
Diminishing the value of happy memories,
Remaining inside: just stories of worries.
Sandpaper gnawing away in the skull,
Shivering with angst to make it more dull,
Leaving no option to reverse the damage,
The sandpaper has ultimate advantage.
Only if the brain were just like a knife,
It would not be considering taking its life,
But there is no way to sharpen the edges,
No mercy from the sandpaper’s pledges.
Because the sandpaper promises to stop,
Fooling the poor delicate mass for naught,
Today is the last day you suffer in vain,
The sandpaper said with cruel disdain,
No true intention of becoming a bandage,
It progresses further the hateful rampage.
And so this struggle is indefinitely bound,
Unless the brain realizes that it has found,
Release in the beauty of its own positivity,
Sending the sandpaper to new captivity,
In a small compartment we all know well,
There, until opened, it shall then dwell.
Perhaps when sadness is rightfully felt,
It will come aid the brain,
With what needs to be dealt.
Until then, adieu, unnerving sandpaper,
I am denying you control of my temper.

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