The things I imagine.
Unaware of why I do.
But there are those days,
Where I believe what I see is true.
Say my thoughts aloud,
As if to some other-worldly being.
This being seeming so close,
But there are times I will not allow it,
And others I find myself lost in my own scent.
I cannot help but imagine these things,
But wouldn't dare put the blame to a being
Of my creation.
I dare not call this the creation
Of a beautiful mind,
But an abomination
That could only be of a mind
As disturbed as mine.
