Some days I can't look people in the eyes
And sometimes, I can't force myself to say one word
Though, my mind is yelling everything
Creating lists to no end
I have a lot to say
So I talk to books of bonded paper
And palettes constructed of fatty vibrant medium
There's no medium in my waking life
But, only two ends of the stick
Too many highs
Too many lows
I adress myself more than anyone else
I have open eyes and bitten lips