Torn between sheets = A Poetic Practice

Only you can look after yourself Don't have illusions you're looked after I know what I'll stock in my shelf Ending it all as the steps falter

I could count the steps But where will that take me Give your all peeps As far as the eyes see

All play and no work It's a simple elegant plan Not going to mess up like a dork Confirmation requires a brain scan

I laugh like opera singers So fresh like laudry all hanged But a stench in the air lingers Nothing good comes when banged

Feels like the skies are on everything I do Can't escape even when I've dug so deep Paranoia sure the feelings true Sowing all this surely I'll reap

Memories that's all they are Distant into the past Eager to turn away looking afar In most they do not last

I'm not wrong to be afraid of myself An out of control vessel facing turbulence Parking all reason on a packed shelf Created by my brains emotional violence

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