Heaven sent in a forest hue shining from
Mesmerized playful thought,
The crimes of love are back in my mind,
Directing my consciousness
Like the **** ******* I am.

I find myself hindered in a rotting caucus like a maggot.

*******.
Once again seduced by chemical reactions and the love of affair,
I find myself crumpled by the air of conquest
And love.  
                                                         ­                                 The thing is,
                                                             ­                I never say what I want.
I tend to hide behind trends of
Illusion-ic syllables
Metamorphosing syllables
Portraying a fantasy so the reader doesn't suspect the victim,

But why's that?
Why can't I be living in a sunlit den of honesty?
WHY DO I LIE TO MYSELF?

I cannot answer with a statement,
Rather, an observation on the individual's reality.

I live in a world smothered in doubt.

Doubt in my skeelfulness.

Doubt in my appearance.

Doubt in the own gait mi shoes nest in.

I live in a world smothered in doubt.

Doubt in the recollection of my memory.

Doubt in my genuineness.

Doubt in every flailing limb moved by the wonky neural synapses.

Doubt in what these synapses create.

Doubt that I am humble.

Doubt that I am of value to a person.

Doubt of reaching Rogerian congruency

Doubt that I will never be the person I want to become.


And this doubt lowers my fedora and clips me into
SIlence,
The opportunities pass with the fragments of time I remember
When I am not intoxicated somewhere I am not supposed to be.

OH, how I wish I could grab you by the arms
And twirl you around in the midst of this of this morning dew fog
Of doubt we reside in for not speaking up.
OH, how I wish to swing your arms to a rebellious melody of the
Norm, and laugh at this norm together.
OH, how I wish to kiss you on the cheek and safely escort you
To your abode where we cackle at feline tendencies and
Chinwag nonsense of
Which sauce is best with gnocchi,
Which toppings you prefer on a taco,
Which swimming stroke a fish would use to saunter to Atlantis,
And if you were to be with me,
How would that make you feel?

Yet, here I am again,
Reverting to the same **** syllabic texture of a Barolo.
                                                 I am a fool living in a stubborn illusion.

I wish Mother Universe would burn my face instead of meandering
In means of seduction and silence, but it's an example of my impatient pride.









At the end of the waxing moon
I live in a world of smothering doubt
With voices tickling mi cochlea per saying
I might not be best at anything,
Nor do I say correct phrasing,

But the one thing i won't let my subconscious trick me into hallucinating
Is the confidence to amplify the manner I would care for you and
Wish to see you blossom beyond my comprehension of vocabulary.

I hope this image of convoluted pictures in a kaleidoscope
Remain steady keel,

These are my thoughts,
And you are on my mind.

I don't believe I have the necessary ability to be more transparent than these words written on canvas for a sector of society to notice,
And so the ball remains lassoed in your court,
Pleading to be shot.
Maybe one day you'll release it to explore a world against societal norm,
Because why live by the norm anyways ya know?

In this world of smothering doubt,
I can't showcase what will lay in the future,
I can't express what our paths intertwined would resemble,

But I can portray my confidence in my feelings for you,
A gasp a light to grasp at
In my world of smothering doubt.

SO I'll keep my fedora low,
Hoping, for the ball to stumble into my court,
Over yonder,  by the strawberry penny lane
In our intertwined minds