I am stuck in an overture
of what it's worth of being sure
that the smoked had cleared
on headroom left nothing but feared.

I am dreading a crossroad path,
tell me what good can I get from that?
As long as this insecurity subsides
I shall tread the least before I tried.

I tend to settle with what I felt eased,
since the light shown upon me makes it's way east;
to abide by my nailed perception of reality
thus I have obscured the fact that I wrote such finality.