Biscuits baking in the oven,
Rain pours down outside -
My head is full of internal noise;
It hurts, but I am not unhappy.
I have learned to ignore those things
which stand in the way of life.
The bass player up stairs is trying,
he practices his riffs
but does not form a song.
A cat sleeps on curtains that have fallen
and no one seems concerned.
I have no thoughts, just feelings
ill formed and unclear yet there.
Stuffed with things I did not choose,
The smell of biscuits bring me back.
They are my anchor to here and now.