I calculate the madness and it's still incurable
What does the world want? the elements keep me miserable

I Tip-toe and gleam to salvage my goals and dreams
My pen bleeds blue or black ink, 4 to 5 utensils applied to meaning

I might be inclined to sketch my life graphically
But what's the point? why can't I enjoy moments relaxing?

If I Step my feet in her boundary, she will not permit
Even if I called her digits or was prompted by stitches

My heart is busied so affiliating with you would be knew
I never had a connection to last crucially to understand the visual

Siblings' example makes it look so easy
They try to preach me on subjects bound reach me

I sometimes fail to listen and learn
Whether I am initiated with Christ like they are
I tend to believe staying close to them, keeps me aligned and firm