(no subject)
Dead Wood
What a hanger, wired and twisted.
A closet of a mind, scattered with mayhem.
Shoeboxes full of analytical essays,
well beyond their required lengths.
Arduous, to attempt organization
and unfeasible with such limited time.
So what then? Adapt?
It’s a woodpecker, these thoughts.
Drilling me into a shambles.
Who might you be,
lost in all of this?
So easily you’d forget and become stuck.
Oh and I’d laugh to see it.
“Are you mad?!” You might yell,
while in the throat of my Ideas.
Well I should be by now.
Really, it’s a surge
Constant and obsessed.
Unexpressed,
the consequences are estrangement.
And a catch twenty-two
when I attempt to share.
The words hobble out of my mouth,
barely landing their point.
What is to the point?
Only such a thing could
leave it’s creator most mystified.
It will not rest,
and hides me so well.
It lets me smile and nod on
while all along I’m succumbed.
I hardly hear anyone, anymore.
A whole reality in it’s own,
I forget the world.
A terrible notion, forgetting the world.
But this closet hangs me.
I display it’s endlessness,
it’s fashion.
I dangle from my own mouth,
and am perhaps the only one
who hears myself so well.
How unfair I am to you all.
Rude, even, to show you my closet
and shut it before you've truly seen me.
I see you,
know that.
I really see you.
What a hanger, wired and twisted.
A closet of a mind, scattered with mayhem.
Shoeboxes full of analytical essays,
well beyond their required lengths.
Arduous, to attempt organization
and unfeasible with such limited time.
So what then? Adapt?
It’s a woodpecker, these thoughts.
Drilling me into a shambles.
Who might you be,
lost in all of this?
So easily you’d forget and become stuck.
Oh and I’d laugh to see it.
“Are you mad?!” You might yell,
while in the throat of my Ideas.
Well I should be by now.
Really, it’s a surge
Constant and obsessed.
Unexpressed,
the consequences are estrangement.
And a catch twenty-two
when I attempt to share.
The words hobble out of my mouth,
barely landing their point.
What is to the point?
Only such a thing could
leave it’s creator most mystified.
It will not rest,
and hides me so well.
It lets me smile and nod on
while all along I’m succumbed.
I hardly hear anyone, anymore.
A whole reality in it’s own,
I forget the world.
A terrible notion, forgetting the world.
But this closet hangs me.
I display it’s endlessness,
it’s fashion.
I dangle from my own mouth,
and am perhaps the only one
who hears myself so well.
How unfair I am to you all.
Rude, even, to show you my closet
and shut it before you've truly seen me.
I see you,
know that.
I really see you.