Maybe if I organize
My soul so that it shines once more
Not like my pictures on the wall
Or books aborn, in elevens stored
If these staggering frames cannot give way
To the host of clearer thoughts they be
Then give and give of another hope, perhaps
And if I finally it let be, maybe
A note about the way I can be externally obsessive. Organizing things almost unconsciously, since I'm looking to avoid doing, whatever it is that I need to do. Maybe. (;
