Chairs window pains and picture frames hold secrets
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Misunderstood with tradition and verbs
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Rifts creeks crevices and curves obey commands and surgically implant paranoia with bad words
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I can see invisible people watching me hiding in the seams
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While drums beat heavy from the rear of my twisted dreams
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Naturally it’s the thing I wear
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Everything is not always as beautiful as it may appear
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I whisper truth to myself and pretend not to hear
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Till poetry becomes aggressive and lines become smeared
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Time has no expiration date and statute of limitations don’t exsist
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Don’t ever get distracted it’s not always easy to resist
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The thoughts
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And I don’t write sweet poems
mentalnotes1 