Red hot piece of searing coal
In place of mine Adams apple
Mine eyes I tightly shut
Anticipating a massive torrential ‘downpour’ of tears
But alas mine eyes barely wet they too “cry foul”
It’s an altercation that’s blown out of proportion confirming fears
That Masquerade as my strengths, somewhat.
I recede to the “chapel”
Of my thoughts
Whence I derive a little piece of “peace of mind”
That too is an exercise in futility
As the mind has seemingly long outlived its utility
And what remains are few blots
Of sane insanity defined.