I can convince myself of many things
Like how my hair looks better with a little blonde than it does with none.
I can convince myself that no one loves me.
And sometimes it works.
And the mind is a devastatingly beautiful thing.
But mine never seems to do things right.
Like remembering things.
Or studying.
But my mind can sure do a lot of damage.
To a point where I'm sick with my own fears.
Turning like a sifter
Letting the good pass on
And leaving the lumps of bad.