My thoughts do rove over conversation in the past
Such thoughts do linger
And creep round my tongue fast.

Herding them to the back gates and locked them there
Some manage to slip ‘round and through.

They’re a black mass of goo that float and stain everything in reach.

However many laughs that I have or stare at people in awe
There will still be that lingering thought floating in the back of my mind, staining.

With thunderous bang of a distanced drum, I still feel it

My eyes do wonder though there’s nothing to wonder about and my mind a blank slate but covered with the black goo