Your thoughts beautifully flower within the walls of your mind.
Affixed with thorns, I am nervous to touch them.
Fearful of a rose drawing blood,
I carefully survey the complexities that rage between your ears.

Yet, to uncover the exact meaning of the intricacies,
In your garden of speculations,
I must involve my own opinions and perspective.

But how am I to find myself,
While I am buried beneath the dirt of your living.