The disease of thinking

Fyodor Dostoevsky once said “To think is an actual disease”

Ironically I think about his words frequently, 

My thoughts run like water, never-ending,

I often get afraid that thinking so much will kill me one day,

I’ll drive myself mad with thoughts, 

They say that to think is a blessing, it shows intelligence, 

But those with the burden of thinking of everything but what you’re supposed to,

They are the ones who know it’s a curse to think so deeply and frequently,

It surely is a disease, one that can never be cured, 

Maybe one day I’ll reach that feeling of peace, 

The peace of one day I’ll never think again,

To never hear a single thought screaming in my head, 

My mind is my blessing but also my curse, 

It’s the sickness that keeps me alive.