When the thinking ends
You can feel the wind brush against your feet
You can see the rain dripping from the apple tree
Its branches shaking outside the window

If I only spoke to you
You would think of me as a genius
You'd have no idea
Where my terrible thoughts originate

Or if I spoke in riddles
That you could mold in your head
Transforming them into new feelings
Things you already know

Maybe that is what I do
When I cheat your mind
I use you like a psychic
Preying on vulnerability

A medium for the subconscious
Twisting vague words
Which only work
If you believe them