The days dust me with guilt,
Far too humid to shake off.
Angles and Shapes boiling
In hot pressure.

From the inside of my own palm,
Silent Skin descends its gift.
Some words hint,
But nothing knows
The mystery of luck
Comes from where God grows.

I steer their perspective
With motions and quotes.
My mind designs the next time
Like drawing from fantasy,
And recycled memories.

When the connection between
Thought and Life is lost,
Feelings vary in values of grey
Love to love, my entertainment.
Adderall, my American dream.