I'm tripping over myself
falling into a
funny daze or a dance or
a trance and I can't recover;
I'm running circles
in a paper house that's bound
to tip or burn into the ground.

Shackled by leaves and vines,
confined in words and rhymes,
lost in a moment trying to find
peace within my mind
Longing for a place that's just
Over there, just there, I must
Reach it, keep walking moving
constantly moving, the earth
is moving without my help so
I can't stop for long or else
I'll realize I'm useless.

I call it thinking but I'm a liar
to myself and I'm a fire
determined to never go out
and never tire
My "thoughts" are only circles, only games,
and my face is never the same,
every day I change again
and try to avoid my shame again
running circles in my paper house that's bound
to tip or burn into the ground.