Questions come in stories
Building towers full of worries
For me to leap off of and into a sea
A sea of anxiety, never-ending, undying
And although I laugh as if my wilting flower is fine
It wilts until completely deprived
Dried and deceased, crumbled and stagnant, at least
Up and down goes my merry-go-round
Crooked crown, a king resting on hell hounds
Painted portraits, of hypnotic orchids
I've lost my mind
In a mania.

In a mania
I've lost my mind
My emotions have become so much more synthetic
Abolished to hell where the bad dogs go
Spinning round and round, disrupting my mental flow
Chaotic, messy, lively, wet, to say the most
It grows until completely fulfilled
Although I cry, because my growing weeds are poor
I feel somewhat okay, on this burning sediment
And as I clutch onto the rope above me
Burning the ground of any hope
Answers are lost in mazes