You’re paper. A blank sheet with stains, covering both sides. You
wreck to stand, to put your foot on that stool. Oh, but check your balance sir.
Where did you set the floor? I think you’ve….
they circle, unnoticed apart from the other vantage.
What’s on the sides of your head? Bulletproof metal…
crafted to fill those holes. But yet it seeps through my eyes. “I won’t let you talk me
Where has your perception gone!
Delusional. What needs more is the soil to the grass. Ask them
how they work. Question their dilemma. They no longer work
for you. You’re quandaries here just, don’t quite fit.
This has complete, back around and back around again.
Any other colour might shelve itself in the blanks. A crunched shoulder connected to naked arms. Sing your tunes to a different
world with smiles that just excessively perceive again.