The most beautiful and perfect thoughts, instances,
Can be, with the right mind, turned into a grimy, mushy slime,
Or lost completely.
The most lovely and flawless sounds,
Can be, with the right ears, twisted into
Unintelligible gibberish and gobbledegook
Or missed completely.
The most divine and impeccable sights
Can be, with the right eyes, morphed into senseless shapes and forms,
Or avoided completely.
They're never kept,
Always lost on me.
I'm a bad game of telephone, a malformed lump of coal once surrounded by others.
Pressure wouldn't settle for anything less than the best out of them.
What works for them breaks for me.
I'm a bad game of telephone.