I collected words in search of brilliant minds
scattered like backwards patterns that I would hurriedly find,
I sat in awe, the pause before the plunge into the deep,
a breathe, with tempting debt, to loan the poems that I need,
discreetly stealing the thoughts of demons at sleep
the teasing trail of fiendish beings dressed as sheep in their fleece
without meaning, I was seeing a story unravel,
a common theme between the beings
that were speaking this channel
and as it baffled me, I woke inside a dungeon of sorts
my skin a canvas for the lies of miniature sport
and AS I finished this game,
the diminished became
a shell of recognition that once hid
behind a sinister frame
so ask me nicely, whats the difference,
the same, I exclaim
im just a little bit different but all this **** is the same
death reading minds poems lies hope disguise