A Prisoner of Mind

By Brady Barnhill

Featured art: Lulling and Soothing the Mind into a Quietude by Frank Vincent DuMond

All things exist in my head.

I know,

Clinging to the wrinkles of my brain

Is dirt and evil.

I would give my freedom to wash it away.

Soapy water trickling down my frontal cortex

And ending these wars of thought.

Wetting my cerebral pallet to have a taste for peace.

A polish that shines with contentment.

But instead, my mind swims through the grime;

Back-stroking through mire and filth.

And the dirt collects in the wrinkles of my brain,

Evil held in place;

Making pure become polluted.

If only my brain were smooth

So that I might clean it with ease;

A thigh in the shower.

But what would I lose in its rounding?

I know that I have no soot on my brain,

Only my own wishes and desires.

A submerged vessel of self.

Sometimes I think feeling whole is the meaning.

The treasure at the end of the quest.

But more often than not, I see the whole process for what it really is,

A ritual of hedonism

That ultimately amounts to nothing. Something that, the factions of mind, will never truly accept.

---

Brady Barnhill (he/him) is a History and English Creative Writing double major from Cincinnati, Ohio. In his free time he enjoys pouring over information to the point of obsession, watching profanely long movies, and rambling to his loved ones.